Hi   II 


PI 
li 


In 

• 

I 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


.  -6.  ^z< 

1 — -  -s 


LAYS   OF  MELPOMENE. 


Tu  senti,  ballatetta,  che  la  morte 
Mi  stringe  si,  che  vita  m'  abbandona. 

Guido  Cavalcanit, 


BY  SUMNER  L.  FAIRFIELD. 


PORTLAND : 

PRINTED    BY    TODD  AND  SMITH. 

1824. 


DISTRICT  OF  MAUVE,  ss. 

FL  s  l"RE  IT  REMEMBERED,  That  on  this  thirteenth  day  of 
'J  JO  November,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  eight  hun 
dred  and  twenty-four,  and  the  forty-ninth  year  of  the  Independence  of 
the  United  States  of  America,  Mr.  SUMNEHL.  FAIRFIELD,  of  the  District 
of  Maine,  has  deposited  in  this  Office,  the  title  of  a  Book  the  right 
whereof  he  claims  as  Author,  in  the  words  following,  viz  :  "  LA  VS  OF 
MELPOMENE,  Tu  senti,  ballatetta,  cne  la  morte,  Mi  stringe  si,  die 
vita  m'  abbandona.  Guido  Cavnlcanti.  By  Sumner  L.  Fairfield." 

In  conformity  to  the  Act  of  theOongressof  the  United  States,  entitled 
"An  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  securing  the  copies  of 
maps,  charts,  and  books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of  such  copies, 
during  the  times  therein  mentioned  ;"  and  also,  to  an  act,  entitled  "An 
Act  supplementary  to  an  act,  entitled,  an  act  for  the  encouragement  of 
learning,  by  securing  the  copies  of  maps,  charts,  and  books,  to  the  au 
thors  and  proprietors  of  such  copies,  during  the  times  therein  mention 
ed,  and  extending  the  benefits  thereof  to  the  arts  of  designing,  engraving 
and  etching  historical  and  other  prints." 

JOHN  MUSSEY, 

Clerk  of  the  District  Court  of  Maine, 
A  true  copy  as  of  record, 

Attest,  J.  MUSSEY,  Clerk  D.  C.  Maine. 


Many  of  the  following  Poems  have  al 
ready  appeared  in  various  literary  Journals; 
and  such  has  been  their  reception  that  the 
timidity  natural  to  a  young  author,  ambi 
tiously  seeking  fame,  is  lessened.  Anxiety 
for  the  fate  of  his  productions  is  ever  pre 
dominant  in  a  poet's  mind  ;  and,  however 
sanguinely  he  may  create,  in  moments  of 
high  aspiring,  an  immortality  for  himself, 
experience  of  earthly  mutability  chills  his 
ardor  and  superinduces  apprehensions  fear 
ful  in  proportion  to  his  lofty  imaginings. 
But  repeated  favors  from  the  public  miti 
gate  this  dread,  and  supply  in  its  place  a 
deferential  confidence  alike  agreeable  to 
those  who  impart  and  him  who  receives 
sincere  approbation.  In  writing  these 
Poems  it  has  been  my  desire  to  please  ; 
the  fulfilment  of  that  desire  remains  with 
a  public  not  unconscious  of  the  author's 
youth  and  misfortunes. 

759422 


of 


SONNET. 

Lyre  of  my  Love  !  for  many  a  lonely  hour 
Thou  hast  breathed  music  o'er  my  sinking  mind 
And  I  have  sought  thee,  when  the  world  unkind 
Crushed  my  fond  hopes,  in  Love's  secluded  bower. 
And  found  thy  chords  possessed  a  magic  power 
O'er  the  dark  workings  of  the  soul ; — woes  bind 
The  Memory  unto  joys  life  leaves  behind, 
And  Fancy  radiates  the  darkest  lower 
Of  stormy  being  with  rich  light ; — howe'er 
Rude  and  unpractised  be  the  hand  that  strays 
Thy  golden  wires  among,  thy  plaintive  lays 
Oft  from  my  soul  have  banished  pain  and  fear, 
And  I  have  felt  for  many  a  lingering  year 
Of  harrowing  woe  for  one  so  young  the  days 
More  softly  come  and  go,  illumined  by  rays 
Brighter  than  others,  when  my  lyre  was  near. 
Thou  hast  been  faithful  and  I  love  thee  well. 
Go  forth,  ye  orphan  lays !  ye  have  no  guardian  spell. 


AUTUMN. 

There's  beauty  in  the  autumnal  sky, 
And  mellow  sweetness  in  the  air, 
But  it  hath  sadness  in  my  eye, 
And  breathes  of  sorrow  and  despair; 
Its  softness  suits  not  settled  woe, 
Its  richness  mocks  my  poverty, 
And  sunny  day's  ethereal  glow 
Laughs  o'er  my  dark  soul's  misery. 


The  requiem  song  of  sighing  gale 
With  rustling,  lifeless  foliage  playing; 
The  chilling  night  wind's  saddening  wail 
O'er  rock-browed  hill  and  wild  heath  straying ; 
The  mournful  sound  of  lapsing  flood 
Lamenting  desert  mead  and  shore, 
Rather  beseem  his  solitude 
Who  weeps  for  all  b,e  did  adore. 


1  have  long  been  a  wanderer,  doomed 
Life's  ills  and  wrongs  and  woes  to  bear, 
To  feel  my  bosom's  loves  entombed, 
To  cherish  grief  and  woo  despair ! 
And  1  have  been  betrayed,  oppressed, 
Belied  and  mocked  in  guise  so  foul, 
That  there  dwells  not  within  my  breast 
A  hope,  nor  purpose  in  my  soul. 


No  kindred  bosom  beats  with  mine, 
For  I  am  one  the  world  loves  not; 
No  hopes  around  my  being  twine, 
For  I  am  doomed  to  be  forgot ; 
Oh  !  had  I  perished  when  a  child, 
Ere  high  aspirings  burned  to  heaven, 
Devotions  blasted,  pleasures  foiled, 
And  passions  ne'er  my  heart  had  riven  I 


I  have  no  friend  on  this  cold  earth, 
No  gilded  prospect  cheers  my  eye, 
Despair  watched  o'er  my  unwished  birth, 
And  woe  wept  o'er  the  agony  ; 
My  childhood  groaned  'neath  wrong  and  ill, 
AYid  I  grew  sad  when  others  smiled, 
For  ever  on  joy's  rapturing  thrill 
Came  sorrows  deep  and  miseries  wild. 


My  youth  has  been  a  scene  of  woe, 
And  wandering  and  reproach,  and  all 
That  loved  me  in  death's  overthow 
Have  passed  away  beyond  recal ; 
And  I  am  left  to  suffer  here 
Alone,  and  feel  the  keenest  throes 
Of  pain  unpitied,  while  no  tear 
Gushes  to  calm  my  burning  woes. 


Pale  daughter  of  the  dying  year  ! 
1  ever  loved  thy  scenes  of  death, 
Thy  foliage  dropping  red  and  sear, 
Thy  pensive  look  and  nipping  breath 
For  thou  wert  like  thy  votary  son, 
Fading  and  dying  day  by  day, 
And  smiling  that  thy  task  was  done 
So  soon,  and  life  had  passed  away. 


When,  oh,  I  trace  the  path  of  years 

And  count  the  pangs  my  heart  hath  borne, 

And  number  o'er  my  bosonvs  tears, 

And  sighs  and  groans  of  grief  forlorn, 

And  think  of  all  the  dead  behind, 

And  what  they  were  in  life  to  me, 

I  feel  a" wild  delight  refined 

In  holding  converse  thus  with  thee. 


8 


Oh,  I  would  change  my  being  high 
Gladly  a  withered  leaf  to  be, 
And  float  on  zephyr's  pinions  by, 
A  thing  unknowing  misery  ! 
And  when  the  snows  of  winter  fell 
I  should  not  feel  their  icy  blight, 
But  slumber  in  the  mountain  dell 
Sweetly  the  livelong  northern  night 


I  ne'er  could  cringe  and  crouch  to  guile, 
Nor  thoughts  repress  that  would  arise, 
Nor  visor  with  a  villian  smile 
Ice-featured  hatred's  demon  lies; 
I  ne'er  could  herd  with  fashion's  throng, 
And  whirl  away  the  unmeaning  hours, 
Nor  link  with  base  nefarious  wrong 
My  spirit's  unpolluted  powers. 


And  so  my  mortal  life  bath  passed 

In  loneliness  and  grief  anrj  woe, 

And  I  have  trod  an  arid  waste 

With  measured  step,  lone,  solemn,  slow. 

And  seen  the  viper  brood  of  hate 

And  baseness  crawl  around  my  way. 

And  felt  my  being  desolate 

Lit  by  misfortune's  baleful  ray. 


Oh,  dying  Autumn  !  would  with  thee 
I  could  lie  down  and  sleep  fore'er  ; 
Thou  would'st  not  waken  misery 
In  the  soft  springtime  of  the  year 
By  breaking  his  undreaming  sleep 
Who  never  loved  its  brilliant  flowers, 
But  often  sighed — he  could  not  weep — 
When  musing  of  youth's  changeful  hoar; 


0 


Cold  is  the  hand  that  once  was  prest 
In  passioned  rapture  to  my  heart, 
And  colder  yet  the  lovelit  breast 
That  felt  in  all  my  woes  a  part : 
Wild  wails  the  wind  o'er  many  a  tomb 
Which  holds  full  many  a  dear  one  bound, 
And  in  creation's  starless  gloom 
I  hear  a  mournful,  dirge-like  sound. 


'Tis  nothing,  Autumn,  but  thy  breeze 
Amid  the  leafless  forest  flying, 
But  yet  it  comes  through  bending  trees 
Like  the  last  groan  of  nature  d37ing  ; 
And  seems,  as  low  the  sun  sinks  down, 
Like  a  sweet  voice  I  loved  to  hear, 
Though  altered  now  its  charming  tone 
To  suit  the  melancholy  year. 


In  childhood's  hours,  a  wandering  boy» 
Reflective,  feeling,  sad  and  wild, 
I  felt  it  was  a  glad  employ 
For  lonely,  visionary  child, 
To  rove  abroad  'mid  hills  and  woods, 
And  climb  the  cliff  and  pluck  the  flower 
That  flourished -there,  and  skim  the  floods, 
And  dare  worst  danger's  utmost  power. 


I  little  thought  at  that  sweet  time 
My  heart  would  ache  'mid  scenes  like  these, 
Or  that  the  clear  brook's  lulling  chime 
Would  ever  fail  my  soul  to  please; 
But,  ah,  long  time  has  passed  away 
Since  I  knew  not  the  world's  deep  woes, 
And  pleasures  past  around  me  play 
Like  spectres  round  the  dead's  repose. 


10 

Since  thou,  pale  widow  of  the  year, 
Wert  here  before,  strange  deeds  have  been  ; 
Full  many  a  gay  heart's  quaked  with  fear, 
And  many  a  lovely,  joyous  scene 
Hath  changed  to  desolation  wild; 
Eyes,  that  once  shone  with  pleasure's  light* 
Have  wept  like  those  of  little  child, 
And  lost  their  happy,  fairy  sight. 

And  many  a  proud  and  lordly  one 
Hath  knelt  beside  the  robbing  tomb, 
And  high-born  things  have  heedless  gone 
With  creatures  nursed  in  lowly  gloom ; 
All — all,  O  nature  !  die  with  thee, 
The  high,  the  low,  the  sad,  the  gay, 
And  it  were  joy,  in  sooth,  to  me, 
If  I  could  die  like  yon  sweet  day. 


THE  ISLAND  BOWER. 

Balm-breathing  evening's  azure  eye 
Its  mellow  glance  o'er  nature  throws. 
And,  music,  melting  o'er  the  sky, 
Along  the  vale  of  Lura  flows  ; 
While  glory  in  yon  sun-track  gleams, 
Like  vision'd   hope,  rich,  faint,  and  fair, 
And  fanc.y  drinks  the  waning  beams, 
As  memory  waves  her  sun-flower  hair. 

The  arching  cliff  looks  on  the  stream, 
That  put  Is,  and  trills,  and  murmurs  by, 
And  silence  waits  o'er  youth's  fond   dream 
Of  bliss,  iie  thinks  not  soon  will  die  ; 


11 

The  tassell'd  hill,  whose  sun-lit  brow 
Returns  creation's  wavy  light, 
Leans  musing  o'er  the  rill  below, 
And  sings  to  hail  the  vernal  night. 

v 

O  !  Lura's  vale  is  dear  to  me  ! 
For  every  scene  is  lit  with  eyes 
That  glow  'mid  every  blossonrd  tree 
With  long-lost  hour's  ethereal  dyes  ; 
And,  while  the  star  that  lovers  love 
Illumines  rapture's  tear-gemm'd  hour, 
I'll  wander  through  the  1  nde'n  grove, 
And  muse  in  Ellen's  Island  Bower. 


The  tufted  lawn,  the  bowery  way, 
The  arbour's  voice,  and  streamlet's  song 
Are  still  the  same  as  ere  away 
I  roved  in  exile  sad  and  long ; 
And  I  can  hear  the  witch-note  still, 
That  breathed  the  pure  soul  erst,  when  love 
Sung  in  the  breeze,  and  o'er  the  hill 
Danced,  while  the  stars  smiled  bright  above. 


The  woven  flowers,  whose  texturing  wreaths 
Clustered  around  the  home  of  bliss, 
Zephyr  still  harps  among  and  breathe^ 
Their  odours  o'er  the  lover's  kiss  ; 
And  silken  chords  with  rainbow  locks, 
Still  link  each  lovely  blooming  flower, 
While  gurgling  rills,  from  shelving  rocks 
Flow  softly  round  the  Island  Bower, 


The  sighing  groves,  the  star-lit  skies, 
The  water's  glow,  the  boatman's  oar, 
The  blushing  mead  with  violet  eyes, 
The  fragrant  wood,  and  pebbled  shore., 


12 

Yet  live  the  same  as  in  those  days 
When  beauty  on  my  young  hoart  shones 
When  laughing  hope  breathed  angel  lays 
O'er  feeling's  lyre  from  rapture's  throne. 


But  youthful  throbs  of  new-born  love 
The  expansive  heart  will  ever  wring, 
For  seraph  transport  cannot  rove 
On  time's  unequal,  changeful  wing. 
Oh  !  years  can  quell  and  quench  the  fire, 
That  lights  affection's  holy  hour, 
And  all  we  worship  will  expire, 
Like  love  in  Ellen's  Island  Bower. 


Once  thrilling  heart,  and  beaming  eye, 
Existence,  soul,  in  rapture  met, 
And  nature's  priest  stood  in  the  sky, 
The  signet  of  our  loves  to  set  ; 
And  fanning  airs  were  singing  o'er 
The  uijion  of  enamoured  souls, 
With  strains  as  sweet  as  angels  pour, 
When  virgin's  prayer  to  Eden  rolls. 

Then  Housatonic's  pale  blue  stream 
Sung  in  the  groves  of  Lura's  vale, 
And  radiant  eyes  were  seen  to  gleam 
Along  the  moon-lit  flowery  dale  ; 
Then  soul  breathed  soul  in  glowing  flood, 
And  bosoms  panted  fond  and  true, 
While  Diano'er  the  islet  stood 
To  watch  and  revel  in  the  view. 


But  fate  came  on  with  fury's  frown, 
And  envy  yelled  his  fell  behest, 
And  beauty  sunk  in  madness  down, 
The  victim  of  a  wretch  unblest  ; 


13 

The  mournful  hosts  of  heaven  in  tears, 
Bewailed  fair  Lura's  darling  flower  ; 
And,  wandering  through  unhappy  years, 
1  mourned  the  ruined  Island  Bower. 

How  dear  to  me  is  Lura's  vale  ! 
O  !  every  spot  is  full  of  love  ! 
For  Ellen  still  walks  o'er  the  dale* 
And  whispers  in  the  willow  grove. 
Her  sky  blue  eye  still  glows  with  beams 
Of  love,  o'er  misery's  broken  heart, 
And  oft  a  glance,  lone  wandering  gleams, 
Along  despair's  convulsing  dart. 

Dark  night-shades  hover  o'er  the  scene, 
Like  sorrow  o'er  my  bosom's  love  ; 
And  all  the  smiles  that  e'er  have  been 
Like  spectres  round  my  spirit  move  ; 
Oh  '.  I  will  linger  here   and  weep 
The  ruin  of  hope's  loveliest  flower, 
And,  hushed  in  sacred  silence,  keep 
My  sainted  Ellen's  Island  Bower. 


THE    TRAITOR  SON.* 

'Twas  a  mournful  sound,  that  trumpet's  strain, 
When  its  wild  notes  rung  o'er  Hebron's  plain, 
For  it  told  of  woe  and  an  ingrate  son, 
Of  a  desolate  sire  and  a  child  undone. 
4Twas  a  mournful  sight  by  Kidron's  flood, 
That  exile-monarch  and  father  good, 
Hurrying  away  fiom  his  palace  home 
To  shun  captivity's  deathful  doom, 

>••  Vide  the  story  of  David  and  Absalom. 
2 


14 

With  a  stranger  chief— the  brave  Ittai, 

To  guard  him  amid  disloyal  fray 

While  his  trembling  tread  was  weak  and  slow, 

And  his  aged  head  like  the  mountain  snow, 

And  his  sighs  swelled  deep,  and  his  tears  fell  fast, 

When  the  rebel  clarion's  echoed  blast 

O'er  Salem's  hills  on  the  wings  of  wind 

Came  rapid  and  loud  the  king  behind, 

As,  girt  by  his  friends,  in  sore  distress 

He  fled  the  way  of  the  wilderness. 

The  traitor-chief  in  the  flush  and  pride 
(Giloh's  oracle  sage  by  his  side,) 
Of  usurped  pomp  and  stolen  power, 
(Acurbe  hung  o'er  that  pageant  hour,) 
With  his  regal  train  who  shout  as  they  come 
The  stale  of  the  death  doomed  Absalom, 
Careers  to  the  monarch's  empty  halls, 
And  wakens  the  voices  of  frowning  walls 
With  the  cries  of  mirth  and  the  wassail  roar 
Of  revel  unheard  in  that  dome  before, 
And  mounts  the  throne  of  his  monarch  sire, 
And  pollutes  his  bovvers  with  fierce  desire, 
While  the  lonely  cry  of  the  centinel 
Like  a  malison  on  his  slumbers  fell. 

Look  ye  to  Olivet !  Lord  of  Earth  ! 
For  apostate  nature's  monster  birth, 
A  traitor  prince  and  a  murderous  child, 
A  monarch  roams  the  desart  wild  ! 
Those  weary  steps  and  those  trickling  tears, 
And  those  hoary  locks,  the  voice  of  years, 
That,  waving,  sighed  as  he  weeping  went 
Up  the  hill  beneath  affliction  bent, 
And  those  longing  looks  he  downward  threw, 
(Perchance  the  son  of  his  love  was  in  view,) 
Oh  !  Israel,  weep !  what  can  they  declare 
But  a  father's  love  and  deep  despair? 


15 

The  sun  went  down  o'er  Carmel's  brow, 

And  nightshades  dimm'd  the  world  below, 

And  David  fled  fast  his  son  before — 

(Was  the  mother  there,  that  the  traitor  bore :) 

And  Bahurim  around  in  dimness  lay, 

When  the  heir  of  Gera  crossed  his  way, 

And  bann'd  the  king  who  had  been  a  shield 

To  his  home,  his  loves,  Ins  hill  and  field, 

And  called  him  lord  of  Belial  race 

Who  had  e'er  blessed  him  with  kingly  grace, 

Till  Ithra's  son  in  his  wrath  wax'd  high, 

And  shook  his  lance  with  a  fiery  eye, 

And  loudly  craved  his  monarch's  nod 

To  strike  thecurser  to  the  sod, 

When  David  turned  with  a  look  like  heaven, 

And  said  to  Shemei — "  thou  art  forgiven  ! 

"  If  the  son  of  my  love  doth  seek  to  kill, 

"  Can  Abishai  think  his  curse  is  ill  ? 

"  Let  the  evil  rage  on — their  words  are  vain, 

"  The  curses  they  wish  us  they  surely  will  gain." 

The  outcast  king  to  Mahanaim, 

Weary  and  sad  by  morning  camo, 

And  found  loyal  hearts  'mid  traitor  war 

Jn  the  chiefs  of  Rogelim  andLodebar, 

Who  nurtured  his  frame  and  pillowed  his  head, 

And  balmed  his  heait  though  it  ever  bled, 

For  the  exile  prince  was  in  sore  distress 

While  fleeing  the  way  of  the  wilderness. 

And  there  he  lay  while  the  Archite  great 
Like  Giloh's  sage  in  Judah's  state — 
Went  to  die  tented  field  to  mar 
His  deadly  counsel  in  the  war; 
And  wisdom's  words  unheeded  fell 
And  earth  received  Ahithophel. 

So  the  armies  met  in  Ephraim's  wood, 
And  the  battle  raged  like  an  ocean  flood-i,- 


16 

For  libra's  sons  and  the  proud  Ittai 
Led  Israel's  hosts  in  the  gory  fray, 
And  the  warrior-chief  of  Salem's  bands 
Brooked  not  the  sire's  hut  the  king's  command?,. 
And  the  TRAITOR-SON  that  morning  died 
In  his  beauty,  glory,  hope  and  pride. 

"  Who  comes  from  afar?"  the  monarch  said, 

As  the  watchman  looked — saw — heard  the  tread 

Of  messenger  come  like  hurricane — 

"  Is  the  young  man  safe  ?" — "  I  saw  the  plain 

11  A  sea  of  tumult,  but  I  know  no  more  !" 

"  My  son  hath  fled  and  the  battle's  o'er." 

The  watchman  cried  to  the  porter — "  There 

"  Cometh  Cushi  like  a  thing  of  air  !" 

"  He's  a  good  man — and  his  tidings  good  !" 

"  Peace  to  my  lord  !"  he  said  and  stood.' 

"  Is  the  young  man  safe?  how  fares  the  fray  ?" 

"  May  thy  foes  be  as  thy  son  to  day, 

My  lord  the  king  !"  That  word  was  death, 

And  the  father  sunk  the  king  beneath. 

He  went  to  his  chamber  and  wept  alone, 

And  he  cried  as  he  wept — "  my  son  !  my  son !"' 


A  DEATH  SCENE. 

Glimmering  amid  the  shadowy  shapes  that  floa: 

In  sickly  Fancy's  vision  o'er  the  walls 

Of  Death's  lone  room,  the  trembling  taper  burr»a 

Dimly,  and  guides  my  fearful  eye  to  trace 

The  wandering  track  of  parting  life  upon 

The  burning  brow  and  sallow  cheek  of  him 

Whose  smile  was  paradise  to  me  and  mine. 

The  autumnal  breeze  breathes  panthigly  anil  come: 

With  hollow  sighs  through  yon  high  window  o'er 


17 


Thy  feverish  couch,  my  love  !  and  seems  to  sob 

Amid  the  waving  curtains  as  't  would  tell 

My  heart  how  desolate  it  will  become 

When  widowed  of  its  blisses  and  endoomed 

To  bleed  and  agonize  at  Memory's  tale. 

The  outward  air  is  chill,  but,  oh,  thy  breast, 

My  dying  love  !  is  scorching  with  the  fires 

That  centre  in  thy  heart,  and  thy  hot  breath 

Flows  sobbingly,  like  the  sirocco  gale 

That  heralds  death  ;  and  thou  art  speechless  now 

Save  what  thy  glaring  eyes  can  tell,  for  life 

Is  parting  from  thy  bosom  and  the  chill 

Dew  of  cold  dissolution's  pangs  pours  down 

Thy  damp  and  pallid  cheek  and  silently 

Evaporates  upon  thy  panting  lips. 

Thy  pulse  is  wild  and  wandering,  and  thy  frame 

Is  writhing  in  convulsive  agony, 

And,  while  thy  spirit  hovers  o'er  the  verge 

Of  Fate,  thou  can'st  not  speak  to  me  nor  bid 

Thy  chosen  one  a  long  farewell!  O  Heaven!  ' 

Let  thy  sweet  mercy  wait  upon  his  end 

And  life's  last  struggle  close — 'tis  vain  to  hope 

For  life — then  take  his  soul  on  gentle  wing 

Away  and  let  the  sufferer  rest  with  thee  ! 

Alas !  hath  He  who  rules  the  universe 

Replied  to  my  wild  wish — oh,  give  me  back 

The  parted  spirit,  kind  heaven  !  thou  seest  how 

I'm  left  in  utter  desolation — ah  ! 

'Tis  o'er,  my  love,  my  happiness,  my  hope. 

I  sit  beside  a  corse !  How  deadly  still 

Is  the  lone  chamber  he  hath  left !  The  moan  , 

Of  dyinj  nature  and  the  bursting  sigh 

Of  heart  dissolving  and  the  murmuring  voice 

Of  a  delirious  spirit — all  are  hushed! 

The  eye  that  kindled  love  in  my  young  heart 

And  told  me  I  was  blest,  is  lustreless — 

And  those  dear  lips,  that  oft  illumed  ray  sou:. 


18 

Are  stiffening  now — those  features  exquisite, 

On  which  I  often  gazed  as  on  a  mirror 

Lit  by  affection,  genius,  feeling — all 

That  love  adores  and  honor  prizes — now 

Collapse  in  expiration  and  assume 

The  ashen  deadliness  of  soulless  dust. 

And  must  it  be,  my  love  !  that  thou  wilt  sleep 

Where  I  can  never  watch  thy  wants  and  glide 

Around,  thy  gentle  minister?  No  more 

Read  voiceless  wishes  in  thy  pleading  eye 

And  soothingly  discharge  them  ?  Art  thou  gone. 

Or  is  it  but  a  dream?  O  thou  dost  d we  1.1 

Within  my  heart  unchangeably  as  erst 

And  ever  wilt ! — I  sit  beside  the  Dead — 

(The  Dead  !  it  doth  sound  awful  unto  those 

Whose  heaven  was  earth's  frail  tabernacle  !)  all 

Atone,  while  round  me  the  false  world  is  bent 

On  pleasure  and  delight  of  varying  sense. 

The  bright-blue  wave  of  Hudson  rolls  below 

My  solitary  view  and  harps  of  joy 

Fling  music  o'er  its  waters  and  the  voice 

Of  gaiety  is  rising  on  my  ear, 

Deepening  my  dark  despair  and  barbing  throes 

Of  untold  woe  with  mirth  and  jubilee. 

0  the  full  consciousness  of  utter  loss ! 

The  single  wretchedness  of  cureless  woe 

When  all  around  ace  gay  !  The  chaos  wild 

Of  billowy  thought,  on  whose  tumultuous  tides 

Hopes,  powers  and  passions — all  the  elements 

Of  heart  and  soul  in  foamy  whirlpools  toss 

'Till  whelmed  in  ruin  ! — Lovely  babe  !  thou  hast 

TVo  father  now,  and  where,  my  orphaned  child, 

Will  close  our  wanderings  ?  I  have  no  home 

For  thee,  dove  of  the  storm  of  Fate  I  thy  path 

In  life  is  canopied  in  gloom,  and  oh  ! 

The  fires  that  light  it  may  be  lightning-holts. 

Cold,  voiceless  mansion  of  my  ruined  love  ! 

Vll  close  thine  eyes  and  kiss  thy  blanched  lips, 


19 


And  watch  beside  thee  for  the  livelong  night— 
The  last,  last  night  I  shall  behold  thy  form  ! 
O  agony,  and  they  will  bury  thee  ! 
Will   snatch  thee  from  the  pillow  of  my  heart, 
And  lay  thee  in  the  damp,  unpitying  tomb! 
Sleep,  my  sweet  child  !  thou  knowest  not  the  pain 
Of  the  sad  bosom  that  thou  slumberest  on. 
Jt  is  some  joy  that  thou  feel'st  not  the  loss 
Of  him  who  would  have  worshipped  his  first-born.. 
The  world  is  silent  round  me  ;  pale  the  moon 
Gleams  on  the  closed  eye  of  him  who  loved 
Her  gentle  light  in  life,  and  o'er  his  cold, 
Expressionless  and  melancholy  face 
Plays  her  transparent  beam  of  love.     My  heart  ! 
Thy  bleeding  tears  would  drown  my  soul,  if  yet 
One  being  lived  not  in  my  life  to  tell 
How  dear  he  was  to  me.     Farewell,  my  Jove  ! 
Our  slumbers  now  will  be  apart  how  far ! 
Yet  e'en  in  paradise  thou  wilt  behold 
Thy  earthly  love  and  bend  from  heaven  to  shed 
Immortal  hopes  o'er  nature's  funeral  urn. 


A  SKETCH. 

Days,  weeks  and  months  passed  o'er  me  and  were  seen 

Vanishing  eternally  with  a  smile, 

That  formed  itself  against  the  spirit's  will, 

So  glad  was  I  to  feel  that  burden,  Time, 

Dropping  from  my  pierced  heart;  for  I  did  live 

Among,  but  yet  not  with  the  living — tears 

Suppressed  within  the  fountains  of  the  soul, 

Hardened  like  crystal  rills  in  cavern-hall, 

And  fell  in  icy  particles  upon 

My  burning  heart,  yet  melted  not  but  lay 

Unmoving  there,  and  chilled  each  feeling,  hope, 

Desire  and  aspiration  that  arose. 

My  being  passed  'mid  shadows,  and  the  things 


20 

Familiar  once  assumed,  or  unknown  fi/m 
Or  appendage,  unknown,  and  to  my  eye 
The  faces  erst  beloved  appeared  like  those 
Imagination  images  in  dreams ; 
And  oft  I  feared  to  speak,  lest  I  should  be 
Abandoned  to  my  woe  ;  and,  if  I  spake, 
My  voice  re-echoed  round  me  like  the  cries 
Of  desperation  "mid  a  dirge.     My  brain 
"Was  fevered  with  my  dreadful  anguish,  which 
Grew  by  repression,  like  the  camomile, 
Until  it  mastered  reason,  or  whate'er 
Name  that  observant  faculty  doth  bear 
Whose  power  is  o'er  the  visible  universe. 
There  was  a  dread,  unmeasured,  in  my  thought, 
A  vague  idea  of  something  horrible, 
Which  I  dared  not  examine  lest  it  should 
Prove  real ;  and  I  lived  like  one  in  sleep, 
Forever  searching  for  some  lost  companion, 
And  wandering  in  mazes  till  the  eye 
Refuses  to  direct,  and  hope  expires. 
Yet  amid  all  the  estranging  of  my  love 
I  still  clung  to  my  child  ;  a  mother's  heart 
Retains  its  deep  devotion  to  her  dear 
And  pang-bought  offspring,  when  the  woman's  tninti 
Is  laid  in  ruins  ;  and  her  bosom  burns 
With  love  instinctive  for  an  innocent 
And  lovely  creature  whom  her  spirit  knows 
Only  as  something  worthy  to  be  loved. 
Folding  the  orphan  to  my  heart,  I  went 
Abroad  the  mansion  witlessly,  and  searched 
Its  chambers  desolate,  and  then  returned 
In  wildered  disappointment  that  the  thing 
I  looked  for  could  no  where  be  found. — I  sat 
In  the  lone  winter  nights  before  the  dim 
And  melancholy  embers,  and  did  hush 
My  breath  while  listening  for  the  tread  of  him- 
Who  ever  spent  his  evenings  with  his  lovu 


21 


In  social  conrerse  ; — but  he  came  not,  so 

I  sighed  and  murmured  to  my  prattling  babe 

That  he  would  soon  return;  but  then  I  thought 

That  he  had  gone  to  a  far  land  and  left 

His  duties  unto  me,  and  that  I  must 

Discharge  them  as  became  our  vow  of  love. 

And  so  I  oped  his  esctitoir  and  saw 

His  papers,  pens  and  pencils  and  all  things 

Disposed  e'en  as  he  left  them,  and  I  felt 

That  1  could  not  arrange  them  otherwise 

If  they  were  wrong  ; — his  closet  then  I  searched 

And  there  his  vestments  hung  familiarly 

And  appositely  arrayed  ; — I  returned 

From  such  short  wanderings  sad,  and  sometimes  thought 

My  love  had  told  me  he  should  dwell  no  more 

Upon  the  earth — and  then  my  heart  did  feel 

As  if  it  floated  in  a  lava  sea. 

Thus  passed  my  strange  existence  from  the  day 

He  died  until  disease  my  infant  laid 

Upon  his  suffering  couch,  and  I  became 

His  sleepless  watcher.     Long  I  sat  beside 

The  lovely  one,  attending  all  his  wants 

And  sick  caprices  uncomplainingly, 

Yet  all  unconscious  that  he  was  my  son, 

Till  one  said  he  was  dying — then  there  flashed 

Through  my  dark  spirit  thoughts  of  past,  and  tears 

Profuse  quenched  the  destroying  fire  that  burned 

Within  my  heart  and  brain  ;  I  backward  looked 

And  saw  my  desolation,  and  yet  felt 

Happy  contrasted  with  the  awful  state 

I  had  awaked  from  ;  life  hath  direful  ills 

And  woes  and  sufferings,  but  the  fiercest  lie 

In  madness,  e'er  in  dread  of  heaven  and  earth. 

It  cannot  weep — it  doth  not  think,  and  yet 

It  hath  both  tears  and  thoughts,  the  one  of  blood, 

Of  pangs  the  other  ;  all  its  feelings  coil 

Like  serpents  round  the  heart  and  sting  the  core 

Unceasingly,  and  all  the  sweet  ideas 


Of  love  and  friendship  round  the  racked  brain  twine 
Like  knotted  adders,  venomous  and  blind. 
Pierce,  O  Thou  Holy  One  '.  the  heart  but  spare 
The  spirit!   Let  thy  judgments  fall  upon 
The  affections,  but  preserve  the  immortal  soul ! 

My  child  was  spared  me  ;  and  the  tale  I  tell 
Was  gathered  from  the  loved  ones  who  beheld 
But  could  not  mitigate  my  woe,  and  those 
Impressions  I  retain  of  sights  and  sounds 
That  floated  by  me  in  bewilderment. 


THE  PROMENADE. 

It  was  the  Sabbath's  herald  eve  ;  and  pained 
With  melancholy  musings,  srich  as  hearts 
Bleeding  with  sorrow  nourish,  forth  I  went 
To  gaze  on  nature's  pensive  face  and  smile 
Of  virgin  softness,  and  I  felt  the  sweet 
Sense  of  her  loveliness  stealing  o'er  my  woes 
While  watching  her  pure  countenance,  now  veil'd 
In  raoonligbt  and  her  changeful  robes  of  green 
Azure  and  silver  blended,  while  she  looked 
Like  one  who  was  to  me  what  angels  are 
To  paradise — the  living  fount  of  joy. 
A  diamond  star  was  gemming  o'er  the  waves 
Of  pearl,  that  danced  along  the  silver  wake 
Of  Dian's  bark,  and  it  did  seem  like  love 
Adorning  innocence  ;  while  in  the  midst 
Of  ether  hung  the  rosy  isles  of  bliss, 
Where  spirits,  as  they  do  the  bests  of  heaven 
And  warder  Zion's  towers,  commune  with  each 
Other  delightedly,  and  tune  the  songs 
That  soaring  souls  forever  sing  above. 
The  thought  of  meeting  my  beloved  again, 
Filled  all  my  soul  with  gladness  ;  and  there  came 
The  blended  feeling  of  devoted  Jove 
Struggling  with  hope's  pale  spectres,  and  despair 


23 

Kindling  the  incense  of  its  orisons 
At  Eden's  altar;  and  I  felt  a  deep 
Impress  cf  confidence  of  happier  days 
On  my  wrung  heart  till  sorrow  came  again. 

A  sea  of  voices  waked  me  from  ray  dreams 

Of  holier  spheres,  and  told  me  of  the  earth, 

That  held  in  its  cold  bosom  all  rny  loves, 

Save  one  sweet  babe  that  gilds  its  buried  sire's 

Image  upon  his  widow's  heart !  O  Earth  ! 

Cold  is  the  couch  thy  sons  must  sleep  upon, 

And  dark  the  chambers  of  their  slumber  deep  ; 

I  looked  around  ir.e  and  the  vestal  moon 

Was  silvering  the  %vaters,  o'er  which  scud, 

Swanlike,  many  a  silent  sail  bound  afar, 

Perchance,  to  fathomless  eternity  ! 

And  dazzling  lamps,  that  seemed  in  the  pale  moon 

Like  crime  obtruding  his  unholy  light 

Before  rose-beaming  virtue,  glared  above 

The  blushing  waters  as  they  laughed  in  scorn. 

And  in  a  sea-dome,  studded  o'er  with  lights 

That  mocked  the  diamond,  many  a  voice  arose 

In  merriment,  well-feigned  and  many  a  form 

Of  outward  splendor,  glided  round  to  find    . 

Something  to  tell  hew  happy  all  must  be 

Who  've  wooed  and  won  the  pleasures  of  the  world. 

Like  earth's  gay  hopes,  full  oft  a  column  rose 

Of  fire  far  in  the  azure  vault  of  night, 

And  then  it  burst  and  vanished,  and  loud  laughs, 

Lunatic,  echoed  far  ; — but  some  did  watch 

The  glittering  fragments  till  they  fell — then  sighed — 

And  I  sighed  too — they  told  me  of  my  joys  I 

It  was  no  scene  for  me — the  sights  I  saw 

Were  once  shared  with  those  eyes  that  wake  no  more  ; 

The  voices  that  I  heard  were  all  unknown ; 

The  arm  I  held  was  not  my  loved  one's — oh ! 

"Tis  bitter  to  compare  our  passing  years ! 


The  Dead!  where  are  they  now?  The  Living!  what 
Are  they  to  tiiose  whose  hearts  are  in  the  tomb  ? 
*  *  *  *  *  * 

Slow  I  returned  to  my  lone  room,  and  kissed 
My  sleeping  child,  and  looked  to  heaven — and  wept. 


THE  YANAR. 

In  orient  land  of  wizardry  and  charms, 

Spells,  spirits  and  romance,  there  is  a  fire 

Unchangeably  eternal,  and  it  burns 

In  undimmed  brightness  amid  mountain  snowe 

That  hang  white,  pure,  unmelting  o'er  the  flame, 

Which  (saith  the  legend)  suddenly  appeared 

To  the  meek  prophet  whom  the  princess  saved 

In  childhood  from  his  watery  couch,  and  nursed 

In  all  the  science  of  the  magic  land, 

To  warn  him  of  his  bondaged  nation's  wrongs, 

And  light  his  spirit  to  supernal  deeds. 

Round  that  undying  flame  in  beauty  bloom 

Roses  in  all  their  pride  of  fragrancy, 

Diffusing  o'er  the  flame  such  rich  perfumes 

As  angels  only  may  inhale  and  live  ; 

And  amaranthine  flowers  in  clusters  wave 

Around  it  ever,  while  the  genii  hold 

Their  magic  conclave  'mid  the  alcove  there. 

But,  oh,  methinks  there  is  an  holier  fire 

That  burns  yet  richer  incense,  and  a  light 

Brighter  and  lovelier  than  that  o'er  which 

Men  marvel  as  a  thing  beyond  their  power 

To  solve — a  widowed  heart's  immortal  love  ; 

A  Love,  that  followed  gladly  in  the  path 

Its  idol  chose,  unquestioning  of  the  good 

Or  ill  therein,  and  went  unmurmuring  on 

Through  want  and  weakness,  wretchedness  and  woe.? 


25 

Disease  and  weariness,  and  feared  no  wrong 

Save  one's  unkindness  and  reproach  ;  oft  tried 

Sorely  and  found  unchangeable  as  truth  ; 

A  Love,  that  wedded  pleasure,  pride  and  mirth, 

And  turned  in  after-days  to  sadness,  gloom, 

And  melancholy  poverty  with  a  smile 

That  nothing  but  his  censure  could  displace. 

The  heart  is  Love's  dear  dwelling-place,  and  there 
Around  his  throne  pure  thoughts  and  feelings  high 
Embodied  spirits  stand  or  kneel  in  deep 
Devotion  at  the  shrine  of  sweet  content, 
Fanning  with  dewy  breath  the  incense-wreath 
Of  faithful  worship,  while  the  sun-beam  eye 
And  angel  feature  of  their  lord   respond 
To  the  fond  vows  of  unalloyed  delight. 

The  icy  look  of  stranger  sympathy — 

The  blooming  sweetness  of  young  loveliness — 

Tempest  and  sun-light  and  the  storm  and  breeze 

Are  all  alike  to  those  who  feel  no  hope 

Of  better  time  or  season  ;  all  \vhosejoys 

Have  perished  in  the  wildest  wreck  of  Fate. 

The  inextinguishable  lamp  of  love, 

That  burns  within  the  bosom  ceaselessly, 

Is  lighted  at  the  sepulchre  of  hope, 

And  doth  derive  its  nutriment  from  pale 

Misery's  tears — the  portress  of  the  tomb. 


TO  IANTHE. 

Perchance,  desponding  maid  !  thy  plaintive  strain. 
Is  echoed  by  a  heart  as  desolate, 
And  soul  as  melancholy  as  thine  own. 
Perchance,  should  I  a  shorter  life  than  thine 
Unfold,  it  would  reveal  more  dreary  scenes 
Than  those  thy  muse  so  feelingly  portrays  ; 
Fond  hopes  crushed  by  the  anaconda  coil 

3 


Of  envy,  treachery,  folly  and  deceit — 

Affections  blasted  by  the  breath  of  scorn — 

Loves  murdered  on  the  pillow  of  repose, 

Revelling  in  dreams  of  holiness,  and  rapt 

To  ecstasies  of  passion  pure  and  high  ; 

Deep  feelings  tortured  on  the  rack  of  doubt, 

Till  their  engendering  fibres,  broken,  warped, 

Withered  and  hardened,  trembled  on  the  wheel 

That  killed  them,  like  a  wretched  maiden's  thoughts 

On  the  unperjured  object  of  her  love  ! 

Perchance,  thou  hast  not  seen  the  dew  of  death 

Gathering  upon  the  brow  of  him  thou  loved'st 

Most  holily,  and  felt  the  life,  that  was 

Thy  heaven,  trembling  in  the  unequal  pulse 

Till  the  heart  throbbed  no  more  !  Thou  hast  not  seen, 

Perchance,  the  pallid  lip  striving  in  vaiu 

To  give  the  parting  spirit  speech — the  eye 

Upturned  to  thy  inanguished  view,  and  bent 

In  dying  fondness  on  thee,  till  it  lost 

The  light  of  life  and  love  at  once  in  death  ! 

When  the  dark  tomb  holds  all  we  loved  below, 

'Tis  meet  to  wish  us  there,  that  we  may  blend 

The  ashes  that  in  life  were  warmed  by  fires 

Ethereal  mutually  ;  and  that  our  souls, 

From  earth's  thrall  freed,  might  riie  together  on 

The  worlds  they  loved  to  hold  converse  withal. 

But,  lovely  songstress  !  (lovely  in  thy  life 

And  poesy  alike,)  thou  hast  fond  friends 

Who  love  thee  ardently,  and  would  not  lose 

Thee  tearlessly — while  I,  whom  thou  hast  seen 

Sembling  a  smile  that  mocked  the  lip  and  eye 

That  wore  it,  have  no  tie  but  grief  to  bind 

My  spirit  to  this  sphere  ;  for  none  would  know 

When  I  am  buried  that  I  e'er  had  been. 

How  little  know  we  \vl,at  we  are,  and  less 

What  our  companions  arc  !  We  toil  and  pain 

Ourselves  to  be  the  things  that  nature  cries 

We  are  not ;  and  we  rack  our  souls  in  days 

Of  sunny  loveliness  to  find  a  cloud 


27 

Where  fancying  sorrow  may  complain  and  sigh. 

Oh  !  if  the  grief  that  rends  the  silent  heart 

In  twain,  could  write  in  pangs  its  harrowing  tale, 

'Twould  shame  the  moody  minstrel's  morhid  strain, 

And  burn  the  heart  that  listened  to  its  notes. 

Such  woe  is  mine,  and  mine  will  ever  be 

Till  death,  for  I  have  proved  the  world,  and  find 

Sickness  and  sorrow  universal  here. 

The  wave  of  Arethusa  cannot  heal 

The  soaring  soul  that  laves  in  its  bright  stream, 

Nor  can  Pierian  waters  cool  the  heart 

That  burns  in  feverish  anguish.     To  invest 

Our  woes  in  fancy's  rainbow  robes,  and  clothe 

Pangs  with  the  spirit's  sunlight,  is  to  deck 

A  corse  in  diamonds,  and  to  lay  the  dead 

Upon  a  bier  of  gold — vain  pageantry  ! 

Songstress !  thou  can'st  not  find  among  thy  friends, 

Though  full  oft  near  thee,  her  whose  lonely  breast 

Broods  woes  too  poorly  pictured  in  this  strain  ; 

But  be  it  thine  to  know  that  a  bright  fnce 

May  often  mask  a  hopeless  heart,  and  forms 

So  falsely  gay  as  mine  be  near  the  tomb. 


SONNET. 

Lord  of  my  bosom's  love,  a  last  Farewell ! 
The  tears  of  Time  bedew  the  burning  throes 
Of  agony,  and  maniac  pain  compose 
To  sadness,  that  becomes  thoughts  magic  spell ; 
The  musings  drear  of  hopelessness  to  tell 
Would  tire  the  gay  ;  a  tale  of  bitter  woes 
To  mirth  doth  bring  alloy,  and  pleasure's  rose 
Would  vanish  at  the  sound  of  death's  deep  knell. 
The  hopes,  the  fancies  and  the  follies — all 
The  subtle  means  employed  to  brighten  life 
Shall  live  and  be  with  sweet  delusion  rife 
Long  ere  I  throw  o'er  them  their  sable  pall. 
Though  brightest  feelings  and  most  fond  desires, 


Aspirings  holiest,  delights  most  pure 
For  few  brief  moments  in  the  view  endure, 
They  glitter,  while  they  be,  with  magic  fires 
And,  like  the  sea  the  setting  sun  beneath, 
Life  loveliest  looks  wnen  sinking  into  Death. 


THE  ROMAN  CATACOMBS. 

Empire  of  Death  and  nation  of  the  Dead  ! 

With  trembling  awe  delightful,  tluough  thy  realm 

Un warring,  lighted  by  a  nickering  lamp, 

Whose  quivering  flame  just  trembles  on  the  verge 

Of  darkness,  and  displays  unreal  things, 

I  tread  in  silence,  and  my  spirit  feels 

A  luxury  of  terror,  and  a  diead 

Sublime  in  its  infinitude,  while  o'er 

This  peaceful  land  where  man  hath  learned  to  dwell 

In  quiet  with  his  fellow,  I  with  step 

Soundless,  wander  to  muse.     'Tis  a  dread  place 

For  those  whose  puny  spirits  quail  at  death, 

And  his  high  attributes  !     O'er  the  damp  walls 

Flit  shadows  spectral,  and  the  startled  ear, 

Tensely  attentive,  doth  create  wild  sounds, 

And  tomb-like  voices,  whose  strange  language  spells 

The  daunted  heart,  and  fires  the  reeling  brain 

To  agony  ;  and  on  each  side  there  stand 

The,  mighty  congregations  of  the  dead  ; 

]Vot  phantoms  as  their  spirits  be,  but  still 

Things  of  proportion  as  they  were  in  life, 

Though  they  move  not  as  erst  they  did,  from  sense 

Internal,  but  are  swayed  by  passing  things, 

And  speak  in  voices  not  their  own  ;    the  forms, 

Anciently  seen  upon  the  Earth,  are  now 

Degenerated  to  that  strange  state  which  doth 

Exist  between  the  living  and  the  things 

In  the  world's  creed  thought  dead.    Sensations  wild 


29 

And  agonizing  wake  within  the  heart, 

At  maddening  meditation  on  the  fate 

Mortality  involves  ;    and  spirits  proud 

Quail  at  the  glance  of  him  whose  chilling  touch 

Freezes  both  thought  and  feeling  ; — but  I  feel 

A  glory  and  a  majesty,  unfelt 

Before,  amid  the  Empire  of  the  Dead. 

Here  all  is  peace  ;  distinctions  die  with  man, 

And  pride  and  power,  and  high  and  low  lie  down 

Together  like  fond  twins,  and  slumber  here 

Forgetful  of  degree  ;  the  Cardinal 

And  Count  with  Monk  and  Peasant  sleep, 

Undreaming  of  to-morrow's  festival 

Or  hierarchal  pomp  ;  no  crosiers  here, 

Nor  coronets,  nor  gold  cross  robes,  nor  crowns 

Of  triple  dominance,  the  humble  garb 

Of  meek  dependence  mock  ;  but  lordly  prince 

And  haughty  priest  lie  side  by  side  with  him 

Who  chronicled  in  memory  the  high 

Distinction,  that  he  digged  their  'scutcheoned  graves. 

This  is  the  tomb  of  Nations  ;  and  upon 

Yon  broken  statue  I  will  sit  me  down, 

And  meditate  on  death  ;  burn  up,  my  lamp  ! 

No  Sun  of  life  lights  this  vast  darkling  cave. 

Methinks  there  is  a  mighty  power  within 

My  spirit,  that  I  feel  such  glorious  thoughts 

Roll  like  sun-billows  o'er  my  swelling  brain. 

The  World,  unthinking  things,  would  call  me  mad  I 

And  reprobate  the  act  whose  affluence 

Of  thought  e'en  Angels  would  be  pioud  to  own. 

But,  oh,  thou  Father  of  my  soul  !  I  bless 

And  worship  thue  that  I'm  not  like  the  \vorld. 

When  thy  pure  Spirit  purifies  my  heart 

From  this  life's  blots,  and  liberates  my  soul 

From  mortal  fardels,  and  doth  place  me  where 

I  may  be  one  of  thy  own  Angel  choir, 

My  theme  of  praise  to  thee  shall  ever  be 


30 

That  thou  didst  give  to  me  a  soul  above 
The  sickening  follies  of  this  slaving  World. 

This  subterranean  mansion  ages  since 

Was  made  to  shield  the  persecuted  race 

Of  humble  Christian  worshippers  from  rage 

Of  pagan  bigotry  :    and  oft,  perchance, 

The  solitary  follower  of  Him, 

Who  was  the  Prince  of  peace,  hath  sat  alone 

Where  I  do  now  in  sadness,  listening  close 

For  sound  of  dread  discovery,  and  the  first 

Object  that  met  his  wearied  eye  has  been 

A  headless,  mangled  brother,  or  a  child 

Rescued  from  Vultures.     Bitter  was  the  bread 

Of  mortal  sustenance,  but  sweet  the  pain 

Suffered  to  those  who  felt  a  loftier  range 

Of  being  in  this  dungeon  than  the  crowned 

Despot  who  reigned  o'er  Earth-shadowing  Rome. 

The  cold  clay  was  their  couch — the  dripping  rock 

Their  pillow,  and  their  food  the  scant  supplies 

Of  short  occasion  or  quick  passing  chance  ; 

And  the  sweet  sympathies  of  life,  the  pure 

Diffusion  of  fond  tenderness  and  love, 

The  mingling  of  unwounded  feelings,  were 

Few  and  unlasting  ;   yet  the  unfaltering  sense 

Of  Godlike  piety  cheered  their  hearts 

And  filled  their  spirits  with  a  strong-winged  faithj 

Which  rose  to  paradise  amid  the  gloom 

Of  their  long  banishment. — Where  are  they  now  ? 

And  where  their  foes,  the  mighty  ones  of  Rome  ? 

They  sleep  together  in  yon  glittering  piles 

Of  limbs  and  sculls,  and  he,  who  on  the  rack, 

Or  in  the  cauldron,  or  'mid  savage  beasts 

Perished,  lies  now  beside  his  murderer 

And  links  his  bony  hand  with  his  who  plied 

The  torture  or  the  fire,  or  goaded  on 

The  frenzied  Lion,  fiercest. — Senators 

And  Slaves,  and  Knights  and  Servitors,  and  high 

Dames  aod  their  lowly  damsels  ;  meek  and  prone'. 


The  wise  man  and  the  fool,  and  friend  and  foe, 

The  persecutor  and  the  persecuted  lie 

Commingled  indivisibly  ;  and  all 

Who,  living,  waged  eternal  warfare — fierce 

Banditti  and  their  victims  sleep  in  peace 

Beside  the  mitred  lords  whose  curses  poured 

Unceasingly  against  them  ;  their  rude  wars 

And  bitter  feuds,  taunts,  jeers  and  scoffings  now 

Are  past ;  we  hear  of  them  as  tales  of  death 

Befitting  only  horror's  wild  romance. 

And  here  I  sit  amid  a  perished  world  ; 

And  'tis,  methinks,  a  better  place  to  dwell 

Within,  than  that  polluted  one  they  call 

Land  of  the  living  ;  for  a  dead  man  shows 

More  nature  and  tine  tenderness  in  look, 

Action  and  attitude,  than  the  base  herd, 

Who  cannot  breathe  save  in  a  venomed  air. 

Death  purifies  the  tainted  heart,  and  sheds, 

Not  aromatic  fragiance,  but  a  balm 

Of  potency  o'er  poisoned  hearts,  and  gives 

Feelings  of  kindness  to  degraded  souls. 

The  dead  lie  not ;  their  speech  and  intercourse 

Is  silent  but  'tis  faithful  ;  no,poor  forms 

And  ceremonies  chain  the  bleeding  heart 

In  converse  with  the  slumbering  sons  of  clay. 

Acquaintance  long  and  guarded  there  is  none — 

Ere  one  can  speak  a  thought  or  do  a  deed 

That  chimes  with  his  desire  ;  and  so  F  love 

The  dead  as  friends  who  ever  speak  the  truth  ; 

They  give  me  better  counsel  than  this  vain 

And  prating  world  ;   and  he,  who  lives  among 

The  buried  nations,  doth  derive  his  thought 

Of  might  and  grandeur  from  those  fountains  whence 

Nor  ill,  nor  wrong,  nor  malice,  ever  flow. 

The  silent  eloquence  of  this  lone  place 

Prepares  the  bodied  spirit,  which  doth  groan 

And  bleed  below,  for  paradise  ;  'tis  here 

Man  sees  and  feels  the  little  thing  he  is. 


32 

Since  the  first  hour  of  rising  consciousness, 
And  tortured  feeling  and  corroding  thought, 
"When  has  the  period  been  we  did  not  wish 
For  Death  as  for  a  proud  deliverer 
From  woes  and  agonies  he  never  knew  ? 
When  has  the  time  existed  spirits  high 
Longed  not  to  throw  the  fardels  off  of  poor 
Humanity,  and  live  in  glorious  climes, 
Fitting  their  own  glorious  nature?    None 
But  cowards,  slaves  and  villains  dread  the  hand 
That  doth  disrobe  us  of  the  blood-wet  vest, 
Which  saturates  our  spirits  with  the  gore 
Of  agony  ;  the  wretch  who  begs  for  life 
1  would  contemn  as  one  unfit  to  live. 

In  such  a  dome  as  this — the  sepulchre 

Of  ages,  it  were  glorious  fate  to  die, 

Beholding  the  assembly  venerable 

Of  Roman  lords  and  mitred  saints,  and  all 

The  thorn-crowned  martyrs  smiling  that  their  son, 

Tired  of  the  pains  of  time,  and  wearied  out 

With  this  world's  crimes  and  miseries,  had  come 

To  join  the  council  of  the  hall  of  Death. 

Then  should  we  look  upon  the  maddening  strife 

For  nothing,  which  corrodes  our  bleeding  hearts, 

With  due  derision  ;  and  contemplate  all 

Our  hopes  an'l  purposes  and  proud  desires, 

And  lofty  feelings  and  aspiring  thoughts, 

And  wasted  hours  and  bitter  sufferings, 

As  phantoms  of  a  maniac's  dream.    Alas  ! 

We  cannot  act  ourselves;  we  are  chained  down 

By  fashions  and  by  follies,  and  made  dupes 

Of  action  artificial;  all  i.  changed. 

Than  this  delightful  wo- Id,  no  fairer  thing 

Sprung  from  the  plastic  touch  of  Deity  ; 

Amid  the  unbounded  Unive.se  there  rolls 

Creation  none  mure  beautiful  ;  but,  oh  I 

This  miiy  palace  of  delightful  things 

A  lazaretto  has  been  made  by  man, 


33 


Within  whose  loathsome  porticoes  and  towers 

Dwell  want,  disease  and  wretchedness  and  crime ; 

The  balmy  airs,  that  once  flew  fanning  o'er 

Its  gardens  of  delight,  and  loved  to  kiss 

The  lovely  creatures  who,  like  Peris,  roved 

Around  its  fragrance  breathing  bowers,  now  move 

Heavily  on  leaden  wings  amid  the  steam 

Of  the  wide  reeking  pestilence  ;  the  songs 

Of  gladness  that  erst  rose  to  Heaven  are  changed 

To  wailings  of  despairing  misery. 

And  yet  upon  this  scene  of  turbulence, 

And  war  and  sin  and  rank  pollution,  still 

Heaven  smiles  as  wont  ;  and  Angels  ope  the  gemmed 

Portals  of  Eden  to  console  this  world 

Of  self-inflicted  pain,  while  they  change  not 

From  what  thjy  were  in  Time's  young  lovely  days, 

Save  that  they  often  weep  that  man  should  prove 

The  deadliest  of  foes  to  his  own  peace. 

Night  wanes  in  her  dark  circuit  ;  and  my  lamp 
Dimly  illumines  the  lone  catacomb. 
And  forth  I  must  depart — to  live  again 
Among  the  living  of  the  sun-lit  Earth. 
Yet,  oh  ye  mighty  dead  !  I  shall  forget 
Never  your  counsels  ;  ye  have  been  to  me 
Wiser  and  kinder  than  the  breathing  race, 
And  oft  arnid  the  volumed  lore  which  doth 
Survive  all  time,  I've  passed  both  day  and  night, 
And  gathered  ample  stores  of  knowledge  pure 
And  alimental,  which  have  been  fo  me 
A  counterpoise  to  all  my  heart  hath  borne. 

Farewell,  ye  dead  !  ye  once  were  great,  and  Time, 

When  he  watched  o'er  the  growth  and  perfect  glow 

Of  energies  ye  once  possessed,  beheld 

No  mightier  things  beneath  the  shadowing  sky. 

But  ye  are  nothing  now  ;  and  none  can  tell 

Or  name  or  lineage  ;  so  all  must  6e, 

And  then  be  n*>t ;  appear  and  vanish,  like 

The  foamy  wake,  which  a  fleet  sailing  bark 

Leaves  murmuring  a  moment  in  its  path. 


34 

PASSAIC. 

Blue  Passaic  !  o'er  thy  mirror  stream 

The  queen  of  heaven  in  beauty  flings 

The  pearly  light  of  her  silver  beam, 

While  the  sky-throned  spirits  from  their  wings 

Drop  starry  gems  in  the  dark  blue  flood, 

And  pensive  Eve  sits  on  the  shore, 

Wooing  the  embrace  of  solitude, 

And  watching  the  dance  on  heaven's  gemm'd  floor 

Of  the  airy  shapes  who  guard  young  love, 

When  pure  hearts  with  affection  gush, 

And  trill  their  songs  of  bliss  above, 

When  lip  meets  lip,  and  beauty's  blush 

Fires  with  a  brighter  flame  the  breast 

Of  him  who  breathes  the  virgin's  breath, 

And  feels  so  purely,  fondly  blest, 

He  e'en  would  court  the  embrace  of  death  ! 

O  Earth  !  amid  thy  cheerless  gloom 

There  are  sunny  spots  of  bliss  supreme, 

And  if,  when  the  lights  of  love  illume 

Those  Edens  with  joy'-,  vosy  beam, 

We  could  lie  down  upon  the  mead, 

And  die  beholding  Paradise 

Around,  above,  within,  indeed 

'Twere  more  than  heavsn  to  close  our  eyes, 

From  which  wrung  tears  so  oft  have  flowed, 

And  perish  in  that  blissful  hour 

When  every  hope  hath  been  bestowed, 

And  we  have  drained  enjoyment's  power. 

Like  music  heard  in  young  love's  dream, 

The  chiming  waves  come  dancing  on, 

And  their  spiry  cones  in  the  moonlight  gleam 

Like  memory's  thoughts  of  the  dead  and  gone  ; 

And  the  pebbly  beach  lies  sweetly  still, 

Beneath  the  look  of  the  queen  of  night, 

Drinking  from  music's  fount  its  fill, 

And  shining  ^rnid  the  pale  moonlight 


Like  budding  hopes  in  blighted  bowers 
Of  soul-lit  love,  when  rapture's  eye 
Hath  closed  in  death,  and  sorrow's  hours 
Link  with  a  dark  eternity  ! 

Blue  Passaic  !  on  thy  verdured  shore, 

When  the  world  doth  sleep,  I  sit  alone. 

And  the  deep  blue  sky  I  traverse  o'er, 

To  find  where  all  my  hopes  have  gone ; 

For  I  once  was  full  of  love  and  glee, 

And  felt  delight  as  others  do, 

And  my  voice  rung  loud  and  merrily, 

Ere  I  saw  that  pleasure  was  untrue, 

That  the  melting  glance  of  a  fond  blue  eye, 

And  the  angel  smile  of  a  ruby  lip, 

Were  as  full  of  guile  as  witchery, 

And  ottered  to  all  who  loved  to  sip 

The  venom  that  burns  in  the  heart  forever  ; 

The  quenchless  fire  that  sears  the  soul, 

Whose  flame  will  cease  its  fury  never, 

But  scorch  where'er  its  billows  roll. 

Spirits  of  night!  oh,  give  me  back 

My  innocent  hours  of  boyish  mirth, 

And  blot  from  my  heart  the  lava  track 

My  thought  hath  run  o'er  this  dark  earth  I 

My  childish  spirit  hut  little  way 

Flowed  in  its  pure  and  sweet  delight,        , 

But,  oh,  it  was  a  sunlight  play 

Of  gleaming  waves,  forever  bright; 

While  now  on  billows  of  lightning  rides 

My  boundless  thought,  o'er  midnight  skies, 

And  my  spirit  rolls  in  the  fieiy  tides 

With  rending  groans  and  wailing  cries. 

My  birth  star  was  a  meteor-flame, 

And  it  wanders  and  burns  fore'er  like  blood  ; 

Noi  hope  nor  love  can  its  fvry  tame, 

Fo,  it  dwells  in  dreadful  solitude  ; 

'Tis  fated  the  pure  and  the  good  to  kill, 

And  murder  the  hearts  1  love  the  best, 


36 

And  its  comet  fire  burns  fiercely  still 
O'er  every  hope  of  my  lonely  breast. 

O,  lovely  Passaic  !  were  my  heart 

As  cairn  and  bright  as  thine  azure  stream, 

In  nature's  love  I  would  bear  a  pait, 

And  blend  with  the  light  my  soul's  pure  beam  I 

But  ah,  I  am  one  by  fate  oppressed, 

The  wandering  ghost  of  the  haimless  child, 

And  my  heart  hath  died  within  my  breast, 

1  have  so  often  been  beguiled. 


THE  LOVER'S  LAMENT. 

Good  night  !  the  last  faint  hues  of  day 
Blend  with  the  sapphire  sea  on  high, 

And  anguished  rapture  with  that  ray 
Sinks  to  despair's  deep  agony. 

The  tinted  robes  of  evening  fade 
O'er  the  dark  welkin's  cloudy  vest, 

As  Hope's  long  lingering  funeral  shade 
Shrouds  the  lone  bovver  of  love  unblest. 

The  soul-lit  rision  of  delight 
Is  vestured  with  a  heart-wrung  tear, 

And  prescient  misery's  chilling  blight 
Comes  from  affection's  sunny  sphere. 

Night,  ebon  night,  veils  every  scene 
Where  oft  we  met  and  mingled  souls — 

Oh,  that  thy  smiles  had  never  been  ! 
My  pulse  throbs  wild,  my  mad  brain  rolls. 


37 

A  burst  of  moonlight  feeling  gleams 
O'er  my  fond  heart's  magnolia  bower, 

But  memory  'mid  the  bright  flowers  screams, 
While  Love  weeps  o'er  the  parting  hour. 

O'er  life's  perspective,  dim  and  dun, 

No  gilding  rays  of  orient  glow, 
My  soul's  gem-star,  my  fancy's  sun, 

Burns  lurid  in  the  vaults  of  vvoe> 

Down-winged  sylphs  no  longer  dye 
The  pale  dead  rose  of  buried  love  ; 

The  air-wove  forms  of  transport's  eye 
Float  not  o'er  sorrow'*  cypress  grove. 

Upon  cerulean  pinions  borne, 
'Mid  opal  waves  of  spheral  light, 

O'er  my  dark  spirit,  lost,  forlorn, 

Comes  one  dear  shade  of  dead  delight. 

'Tis  more  than  demons  could  invent 
To  wreak  their  deadliest  hate  in  pain, 

The  broken  heart's  fierce  punishment, 
To  gaze  on  bliss  from  cells  where  reign 

The  fiend,  whose  fangs  are  fraught  with  all 
Love's  raptures  changed  to  agony, 

And  that  foul  hag,  whose  shriek  can  call 
The  bitterest  woss  of  misery. 

Away — away  !  my  boiling  blood 
Maddens  my  dizzy  brain,  whene'er 

I  tkink  that  Envy's  hell-born  brood 
Barred  me  the  love  of  one  so  dear. 


4 


38 

Relax — relent !  thou  swelling  sail ! 

Spare  me  a  moment's  thought  of  her ! 
O,  how  my  senses  faint  and  fail 

As  memory's  star-light  shades  recur. 

I  ask  not  hours  to  throb  and  thrill 

With  sweet  remembrance,  sad  and  wild, 

The  sickness  of  my  soul  would  kill 
Ere  I  could  dwell  on  passion  foiled. 

1  ask  but  one  last  murdered  look, 

One  glance  of  that  overshadowed  spot, 

Where  love  his  purple  pinions  shook, 
Where  all  I  valued  was — is  not ! 

Thou  cliff !  from  whose  aerial  brow 
My  wild  eye  drank  her  sylphic  form, 

Oh  !  keep  the  soul-beams  on  thee  now, 
Through  sunny  days,  and  nights  of  storm  ! 

And  hear  the  wailing  tones  that  swell 
Above  thy  cloud-capt,  azure  height ; 

They  ring  a  spirit's  funeral  knell  ; 
They  issue  from  sepulchral  iiight. 

Farewell !  I  ne'er  shall  gaze  again 
On  mansion,  cliff,  or  stream,  or  tree, 

Where  centres  bliss,  converges  pain, 
And  wails  the  lyre  of  agony  ! 


A  light  gleams  from  yon  casement  high, 
And  sparkles  in  my  tearful  gaze, — 

Oh  !  'tis  the  lattice  meets  my  eye, 

Where  love  threw  flowers  'mid  rapture's  rays 

And  'tis  her  hand  that  waves  the  light, 
For  me?  Ah,  no  !  fierce  madness  tells 


39 

She  waits  the  dalliance  fond  to-night 
Of — how  my  bosom  pants  und  swells  ! 

I  will  not  think — HI  plunge  afar 
Beneath  the  ocean's  booming  wave, 

Where  shines  nor  sun,  nor  moon,  nor  star, 
Where  the  dead  throng,  and  demons  rave- 

Ere  I  will  speak  the  hated  name 
Of  him  who,  fiend-like,  stole  my  love  ; 

Hell's  banded  demons  better  claim 
As  brothers,  and  their  deeds  approve  ! 

But  her — alas!  1  cannot  feel 

One  haughty  pulse,  one  hating  thought ; 
My  heart  will  ever  basely  kneel 

Before  the  shrine  my  passion  wrought ; 

And  I  shall  stoop  to  dream  of  one 

Who  ne'er  will  think  nor  care  for  me, 

And  madly  trace,  when  all  undone, 
The  textured  toils  of  destiny. 

Memory  will  sit  beneath  the  shade 
Of  sorrow's  poison-dropping  tree, 

And,  as  the  forms  of  misery  fade, 
People  with  fiends  immensity. 

Oh  !  that  her  lips  would  breathe  a  curse 
O'er  every  step  of  life's  wild  track, 

That  I  might  ban  the  universe, 

And  hurl  my  proud  defiance  back  ! 

Then  I  would  ride  the  lightning's  wing, 
And  catch  the  vollied  bolts  of  heaven, 

'Mid  hurricane  in  triumph  sing, 

And  shout  and  yell  where  they  had  riven. 


40 

And  I  would  brave  their  maddest  power, 

Echo  their  echoes  o'er  the  sky, 
And  in  destruction's  whelming  hour 

Forget  my  bosom's  agony. 

But  ah  !  it  will  not — cannot  be  ! 

Time,  fate,  chance,  foe  have  done  their  worst! 
Earth,  ocean,  air,  are  nought  to  me — 

Oh!  that  my  panting  heart  would  burst  1 

Who — who  can  bear  a  rapier  smile  ? 

A  kiss  that  dooms  the  soul  to  death? 
Tne  anguish  of  illuding  guile  ? 

The  nectar  upas  of  the  breath? 

1 — I  will  bear  it — fierce  and  high, 
Nor  stamp  my  brow  with  characters 

Each  pitying  fool  can  read,  and  sigh 
In  grief  of  scorn  for  him  who  bears. 

Good  Night,  ye  vales,  and  hills 'so  fair! 

I  love  to  hold  converse  with  you, 
She  claims  no  parting  but  despair, 

Nature  still  wins  a  fond — Adieu  ! 


THANKSGIVING    ODE. 

When  young  Time  sung  in  Eden's  bower, 
And  angels  echoed  back  his  strain, 
Ere  sin  mildewed  each  morning  flower 
Of  hope,  and  pleasure  died  in  pain, 
Each  love-winged  thought  that  rose  on  high 
Was  man's  melodious  prayer  of  praise, 
And  hap,)y  hearts  threw  o'er  the  sky 
Blessings,  as  flowed  the  sun-waved  days, 
While  Heaven  benignly  smiled  and  breathed  the  grateful  lays. 


41 


No  seasons,  then,  by  power  assigned, 
Restricted  songs  of  gratitude, 
For  man's  pure  heart  and  pious  mind 
Cherished  no  thoughts  but  those  of  good  ; 
But,  his  high  spirit  higher  soaring, 
lie  knowledge  bought,  and  was  unblest; 
And,  when  he  should  have  been  adoring, 
Lost  Edeu — love's  abode  of  rest, 
And  wandered  forth  o'er  earth,  an  exile  sore  distrest. 

There  was  a  jubilee  in  Heaven, 
When  man  to  being  sprung,  and  raised 
His  soul  iu  praise  for  blessings  given, 
The  image  of  the  GOD  he  praised  ; 
And  there  are  songs  of  glory  swelling 
O'er  Heaven,  e'en  in  these  sinning  days, 
When  man  laments  his  long-lost  dwelling, 
Yet  for  earth's  joys  chants  hymns  of  praise, 
And  sings  in  Eden's  speech,  though  lost  to  Eden's  ways. 

For  sunny  skies  and  balmy  showers, 
And  mellow  airs,  diffusing  health, 
And  bloomy  meads  and  dales  of  flowers, 
And  fields  of  beauty  rife  with  wealth, 
And  verdured  vales   and  wooded  hills, 
And  Plenty  smiling  o'er  each  home, 
Which  rose-lipped  Love  with  odour  fills, 
And  sweet  Content,  who  scorns  to  roam  ; 
For  blessings  such  as  these,  let  glad  Thanksgiving  come. 

No  pestilence  hath  stalked  abroad, 
And  thrown  o'er  bliss  the  funeral  pall ; 
No  sword  of  crime-avenging  GOD 
Hath  marred  man's  toil-won  festival; 
His  earthquake  voice  hath  not  been  heard 
Amid  the  cheerful  mirth  of  life  ; 
But  his  breeze-wafted  smile  hath  stirred 
Softly  the  groves  with  perfume  rife, 
And  blessed  again  the  man  who  flies  soul-jarring  strife. 

4* 


42 

Pole-Star  of  Freedom's  starry  sky  ! 
O  Maine  !  fair  daughter  of  the  North  ! 
Awake  thy  harp  of  melody, 
And,  holy  Priestess,  go  thou  forth 
With  voice  of  praise  o'er  Freedom's  land, 
And  bid  her  happy  sons  revere 
The  memory  of  that  hallowed  band, 
Who  bowed  to  Heaven  in  forest  drear, 
And  blessed  the  Almighty  One,  whose  blessing  dried  each  tear. 


VIGILS. 

Thou  wert,  my  sister  !    sinless  love  !    Thou  art  not  now  !  Alone 
I  wander  sadly  far  from  scenes  we  loved  to  call   our  own, 
And  often  breathe  a  sobbing  sigh,  and  shed  a  bleeding  tear, 
When,  mingling  with  the  icy  world,  I  think  of  blisses  dear. 

Thou  wert  a  sun  to  light  my  heart  when  sadness  on  it  hung, 

And  plaintive,  pure,  and  holy  were  the  songs  thy  spirit  sung ; 

Thy  dove-like  bosom  throbbed  with  love,  so  gentle,  deep   and  fond, 

That  still  it  dews  my  burning  heart  though  thou   art  far  beyond 

The  scenes  we  trod,  the  groves  we  loved,  and  thy  lone  brother's  view, 
For  heaven  and  earth  are  linked  by  love,  so  feeling  and  so  true. 
Sweet  sainted  shade !    how  happy  had  thy  brother's  pathway  been 
If  thy  soft  smile  had  cheered  his  soul  in  many  a  gloomy  scene  ! 

I 

But  thou  art  gone,  and  I  am  left  alone  upon  the  earth, 
A  cloud  amid  the  sunny  forms  of  life — but  of  their  worth 
Or  beauty,  wit  or  wisdom,  I  know  nought  nor  wish  to  know, 
They  pass,  1  see  them  not — they  speak,  but  know  not  of  my  woe. 

They  flaunt  along  in  robes  so  rich,  and  talk   in  tones  so  gay, 
And  plume  their  hearts  so  much  on  earth — poor  insects  of  a  day  ! 
That  I  can  feel  no  love  for  them,  though  fair  and  fond  they  be, 
Since  thou  art  gone,  and  I  must  go,  to  far  eternity. 


43 

Oh  !  many  a  year  hatli  fled  afar,  since  thou  wevt'with  me,  love  ! 
And  by  my  side  did'st  walk  and  siug  along  the  eliny  grove, 
And  turn  thy  soft  blue  eye  to  mine,  and  lay  thy  head  upon 
My  love-lit  breast  and  look  so  fond— and  now  I'm  all  alone  ! 

The  melancholy  moon  so  dim,  the  attracting  orb  of  woe, 
I  view  and   think  on   all  thy   smiles,  thy  tears,  thy  words  below, 
And  then  it  seems  so  strange  that  old  and   soulless  forms  should  be 
Sepulchral  shadows  o'er  the  world,  and  thou   so  far  from  me  ! 

Where  art  thou,  sister,  where  ?    I  know  they  tell  us  heaven's  above, 

And  that  it  is  a  holy  place — the  scene  of  joy  and  love  ; 

But  where,  oh  !   where  is  that  dear  spot  in  yon  celestial  sky 

Thou  dvvell'st  upon  ?    O  point  it  out  to  my  long  searching  eye  ! 

And  I  will  sit  the  livelong  night  and  gaze  upon  that  p^ace, 

Where  thou  dost  dwell  and  sing  of  love  and   heaven's  ethereal  grace; 

And  I  will  think  thou  dost  behold  thy  brother's  form  below, 

And  smil'st  upon  his  gloomy  soul,  and  that  will  soothe  my  woe. 

Can'st  thou  not  tell  me  how  they  live,  the  spirits  of  the  sky, 
And  where  we  go  and  what  we  feel  when  earthly  bodies  die  ? 
And  wilt  thou  not,  my  sister  love  !  when  I  am  sad  and  lone, 
Descend  upon  my  brooding  soul  and  tell  me  where  thou'rt  gone  ? 

The  air's  so  pure  that  comes  froT»   heaven,  the  skies  around  so  bright^ 

And  all  above  so  holy,  it  must  be  of  dear  delight 

The  mansion,  and  the  place  where  He  ascended  to  prepare 

A  palace  for  the  wanderer — a  refuge  from  despair. 

And  thou  art  there,  in  glory,  love !  and  I  in  woe  am  herej 

And  thou  dost  shed  a  radiant  smile,  and   I  a  bitter  tear  ; 

But  thou  art  happy,  and  I  feel  that  while  I  live  below, 

To  think  that  thou  art  free  from  sin,  will  calm  my  ceaseless  woe •! 


44 


FAME. 

To  gain  a  name,  and  be  the  tiling  the  world 

Mimics  and  mocks,  delights  in  and  deludes, 

Dooms  to  despair,  and  destines  for  the  fane 

Of  fame  ;  to  feel  the  butterflies  of  earth 

Sucking  the  essence  of  almighty  thought 

To  sate  and  gorge  themselves  withal ; — to  be 

The  vassal  camel  of  a  mental  waste 

Toiling  for  things  detestable,  who  love 

To  goad  with  gilded  lances  creatures  formed 

To  elevate  their  honor,  and  to  hear 

Groans  wrung  from  bleeding  hearts  : — to  toil  and  sigh 

'Mid  vigils  of  strained  thought,  and  feel  the  breath 

Of  waking  nature  stealing  o'er  tiie  fires 

Of  the  hot  brain,  and  hear  the  morning  air 

Chant  matin  minstrelsy  to  hopeless  woe, 

Mocking  the  spirit's  ear  ;  to  look  abroad 

O'er  earth  and  heaven,  and  weave  in  sunny  web 

Thoughts  pure  and  delicate,  conceptions  high, 

Creations  glorious,  and  fancies  rich, 

Threads  spun  in  paradise  and  knit  and  linked 

13  3'  magic  skill  of  mighty  intellect; — 

To  think,  toil,  fancy  thus,  and  yet  to  know 

That  we  but  frame  an  Eden  for  base  worms, 

Serpents  of  venom,  reptiles  foul,  and  things 

Beneath  all  name — 'tis  vile,  oh,  very  vile  ! 

****** 
And  then  the  cold  neglect,  the  stinging  scorn. 
The  maddening  look  ol'pit3r,  and  the  sneer 
That  calls  itself  a  smile  ;  the  taunting  speech 
That  words  its  malice  in  fair  compliment 
To  aggravate  its  bitterness  ;  the  eye 
Whose  earth-bent  gaze  doth  seem  to  scorn  and  laugh 
At  what  the  cur  I'd  lip  utters  ;  the  oblique  leer 
Of  galling  envy,  telling  standers-by 
That  its  approval  is  the  baited  barb 
Which  all  confiding  genius  swallows  down, 
To  its  own  ruin  !     These  arc  only  part 


45 

Of  what  the  votary  of  living  fame 
E'er  silently  endures! — His  ocean-thought 
Commingles  with  the  universe,  and  rolls 
In  tides  sublime  along  the  eternal  shore, 
Its  billows  swelling  amid  worlds  of  light 
And  sounding  immortality  !     Around 
Floats  music  most  seraphic,  and  above 
Ascend  the  jetvelled  battlements  of  heaven, 
Warded  by  spirits  of  the  sun — below — 
Alas  !  the  cold  re-acting  waves  return 
Mournfully  to  earth,  and  lose  their  rich 
Music  and  brightness  in  the  oozy  marsh 
And  slimy  pools  of  folly,  vice  and  sin. 


THE  SPIRIT. 

The  spirit  Cannot  die  ;  it  must  dilate 

Eteinally,  and  be  a  vital  part 

Of  everlasting  ages — knitted  close 

To  absolute  infinity  and  linked 

With  the  immensity  of  fate — 'tis  just 

It  should  be  deathless,  for  its  plastic  powers 

No  limit  know  nor  bound,  e'er  shining  through 

Creation  like  the  sun  ;  but,  oh,  the  heart 

Will  prey  upon  its  energies  and  prove 

A  mountain  on  its  wings,  for  subtle  thought 

Is  but  the  slave  of  feeling,  and  the  soul 

Will  languish  when  the  bosom  aches  and   be 

The  vassal  of  locality,  depressed 

By  poor  contingencies  and  habitudes. 

The  desecration  is  most  vile  and  yet 

Life's  feeble  purposes  demand  the  use 

Of  powers  almost  angelic,  for  the  soul 

Js  like  the  sun,  though  stationed  in  the  ekies, 


4G 

It  must  look  down  on  earth  and  light  alike 
Things  beautiful  and  loathsome.     Be  it  so  ! 
Shall  man  be  querulous  and  dare  impugn 
What  Deity  hath  warranted  and  done  ? 

Spirits  of  greatness  have  human  form 

And  feature,  like  the  veriest  thing  that  gropes 

And  grovels  in  base  idiocy  ;  they  pass 

Before  the  world  as  other  mortal  shapes, 

And  though  the  eye  may  beam  unusually, 

The  brow  wear  deeper  lines  of  thought  intense 

Than  others,  and  the  glow  and  gloom  of  hope, 

The  sunlight  and  the  darkness  of  the  soul 

Vary  the  changeful  feature,  and  the  tread 

Be  more  unequal  and  the  outward  bearing 

More  plainly  intellectual  than  the  step 

And  look  of  the  great  mass,  yet  deeply  dwells, 

Unseen,  impalpable,  the  living  beam 

Of  star-eyed  light  that  issued  from  the  sun 

Of  the  Divinity  ;  and,  unbeheld 

By  creatures  of  most  ordinary  note, 

Beings  pass  by  in  silence  or  they  stand 

Apart,  in  general  estimation  thought 

Of  minor  consequence,  on  vacant  air 

Dwelling  or  veiling  their  soul-beaming  eyes 

From  things  external,  that  the  soul  may  close 

The  portals  of  its  palace  and  retire 

To  holy  counsel  with  itself — who  are 

More  fitting  glory  and  would  wear  the  robes 

Of  angels  more  to  nature  than  the  shapes 

Mortality  has  burdened  them  withal. 

Such  Spirits  fill  the  universe — they  live 

In  the  blue  ether  and  their  dwelling-place 

Is  the  immensity  above  ;  they  sit 

Upon  the  thrones  of  angels  in  the  stars 

And   hold   converse   with  them   when  gentle  nighl 

The  gay  earth  canopies  and  nature  folds 


47 

Her  moonlight  drapery  round  her  and  lies  down 

By  bright  Hyperion's  side  to  bridal  sleep. 

This  world  of  sin  they  labour  to  forget 

And  all  its  crimes  and  woes,  and  they  become 

Associates  with  the  blest  in  pure  de&iros 

And  feelings  holy  ;  and  they  love  to  tread 

The  verge  of  paradise  though  mortal  yet, 

Seeking  to  know  the  loves  that  blossom  there, 

The  joys  that  never  fade  in  those  bright  fields, 

Tlie  thoughts  of  bliss  expanding  ever  through 

The  panseless  ages  of  unceasing  love. 

Such  spirits  find  no  thoughts  reciprocal 

In  earthly  beings;    none  can  estimate 

Their  greatness  rightly;    none   can  feel   the    same 

Dissolving  and  absorption  of  all  powers 

In  soft  elysian  visionry — they  live 

Alone,  star-beams  round  the  sun-throne  of  GOD  ! 

The  sovereign  eagle  ever  dwells  alone 

In  solitary  majesty,  and  waves 

His  mighty  wings  in  air  unbreathed  by  thing 

Of  lowlier  nature  ;  and  the  lion  walks 

The  wilderness  companionless,  and  holds 

No  converse  with  the  creatures  that  surround 

His  monarch  pathway  ;  so  the  angel  soul, 

The  seraph  spirit  lives  in  loneliness 

Proud  and  unbending,  and  its  solitude 

Becomes  its  empire  where  it  reigns  fore'er 

In  might  and  majesty. — But  when  't  is  chained 

Down  in  the  world's  cold  dungeon,  and  is  mocked 

By  gazing  folly  and  unholy  guile, 

And  taunted  by  the  reptile  hordes  around, 

Madness  springs  up  within  the  brain  and  flares 

In  deadly  fury  from  the  eye  and  whelms 

The  spirit  probtrate  which  could  be  subdued 

Only  by  its  own  potent  strength  ; — the  high 

Aspiring  intellect  doth  spurn  the  poor 

Malice  of  insect  nothingness  and  live* 


Or  dies  only  because  it  wills  it  so. 

The  boundless  universe  with  all  its  worlds 

Of  stars  and  suns  is  but  a  narrow  path 

For  the  imaiortal  spirit ;  one  bright  glance 

Of  the  soul's  eye  pervades  all  space  and  flies 

Beyond  the  farthest  reckoning  of  the  sage 

Who  reads  the  heavens;  the  winged  thought  sublime 

Wanders  unresting  through  creation's  worlds 

And  searches  all  their  glorious  beauties,  till 

Yet  unsatisfied,  it  would  rove  through  realms 

E'en  angels  know  not  of,  when  some  keen  pang, 

Overwhelming  want  or  weakness  murders  thought, 

And  brings  the  almighty  spirit  down  to  earth, 

And  all  its  chilling  woe  and  bitterness. 


THE  DEATH  OF  TIME. 

There  was  delight  among  the  unconscious  sons 
Of  Ea<  th  when  dew-lipped  Eve  upon  the  sky 
In  virgin  brauty  stood  and  bade  adieu 
To  the  Sun-Spirit  as  his  crimson   wings 
In  the  far  distance  waved  like  gossamer  ; 
And  there  was  gladness  in  the  look  she  threw 
Into  the  blue  infinitude  to  watch 
The  latest  beam  of  day;   and,  when  she  turned 
Her  twilight  glance  upon  this  world,  and  spread 
Her  dusk}'  veil  o'er  nature,  there  was  love 
In  her  ethereal  attitude,  and  joy, 
That  had  its  being  in  sweet  innocence, 
Illumed  her  melting  features  winningly. 
But  Earth's  gay  habitarts  beheld  the  beams 
Of  Uriel's  eye  slow  fading,  and  the  soft 
Dimness  of  eve  condensing  into  night, 
With  feelings  unallied  to  holiness 


49 

Or  breathing  of  the  pure  serenity, 

That  flowed  from  all  things  ;  on  false  pleasures  bent 

Of  sense,  they  waited  but  the  closing  night 

To  veil  their  gaiety  and  mirth  and  crime. 

But  Night,  at  man's  unholy  madness  wroth, 

And  startled  at  his  wassailry,  arose 

From  her  dark  couch  and  shrieked  so  fearfully 

To  heaven  that  angels  on  each  other  gazed 

In  deep  astonishment,  for  sinners  chained 

In  helJ  ne'er  framed  aery  so  piercing;  looks 

Of  doubt  and  trouble  passed  ere  tortured  Night 

Creation's  guardians  saw;  but  then  she  raised 

Her  thousand  voices  and  invoked  the  Lord 

Of  All  that  Time  might  be  no  more  !  A  voice 

From  heaven's  eternal  throne  of  light  came  fortli 

And  angels  echoed — "Time  shall  be  no  more  I" 

Then  portent  stillness  stretched  her  leaden  wings 

Immovably  o'er  earth  and  nature  slept 

In  deathful  slumbers,  save  a  startling  moan 

Involuntary  ever  and   anon, 

When  the  lascivious  song  of  godless  mirth 

And  the  loud  shout  of  revel  rose  and  went 

Forth,  the  dread  witnesses  of  sin  and  crime. 

The  stars  looked  down  and  wept,  and  whispers  stole 

Along  the  firmament  from  each  to  each, 

Communicating  doom,  while  man's  seared  eye, 

From  which  the  spirit  had  retired  in  shame, 

Read  nought  but  peacefulness  and  pardon  full 

For  all  his  vileness  in  the  arching  sky. 

Morn  leapt  upon  the  mountains,  but  the  light 
Was  gory  crimson,  and  the  lurid  vault 
Seemed  panting  while  the  day-break  ahs  went  by, 
No  lyric  voice  was  heard  ;  the  loveliest  birds 
By  pairs  sat  mutely  on  the  trees,  nor  moved 
Though  the  green  leaves,  all  crumbled  into  dust, 
Dropped  o'er  them  rapidly  ;  the  wondering  herds 
Wandered  unresting  e'er  the  ground  and  roared 


With  pain,  for  the  hot  earth  by  inward  fires 

Was  fast  consuming  ;  the  fell  reptiles  hissed 

Distractingly  and  thrust  their  venoined  fangs 

Against  their  rocky  dens  till  their  last  joy, 

The  woe  of  man,  was  gone,  and  their  fierce  pain 

Augmented  by  the  act  that  meant  relief; 

The  finny  clans  of  ocean  rose  and  spread 

Upon  its  surface  to  escape  the  steam 

Of  its  wide   boiling  billows,  and  the  loud 

Flapping  of  tortured  bodies  numberless 

Frothed  o'er  the  waters  for  a  thousand  leagues. 

All  nature  was  in  agony— rsave  man  ! 

He  slept  amid  the  wailings  and  the  shrieks 

Qf  things  to  whom  eternity  was  nothing. 

What  sound  will  tfake  the  sleeper  ?  Hark! — 'tis  nought. 

'Mid  volumes  of  dark  vapour  rose  the  Sun 
Affnghtingly  effulgent,  and  his  glare 
Changed  the  dun  concave  to  a  sea  of  blood. 
The  World  reeled  to  and  fro  and  things  of  life 
Gasped  sobbingly  for  breath  in  the  thick  air. 
Beneath  day's  baleful  gleam  rocks  melted  down 
And  mountains  into  lava  seas — woods  felt 
And  crumbled  instantly  to  earth — fierce  flames 
Drank  up  the  hissing  streams  and  the  hot  ground 
Rung  with  a  hollow  moan.     Where — where  was  man? 
Slumbering!  What  sound  will  wake  the  sleeper?  Hark! 

Creation,  wake  !  it  is  the  knell  of  Time  ! 

Attend  his  burial  in  Eternity  ! 

There  sounds  the  Archangel's  clarion  !     The  skies 

Roll  rapidly  away  ;  the  Sun  hath  gone 

Down  the  abyss  of  chaos;  demons  throng' 

The  gulf  o'er  which  the  world  reels  fearfully. 

That  fiendish  laugh,  oh,  hear  it ! — See  !  the  Earth, 

The  very  dying  Earth  doth  rise  and  shriek 

As  trembling  with  the  dread  that  hell  hath  ta'en 

Possession  of  her  beautiful  domains. 

Darkness  becomes  material,  and  throngs 


51 


Of  waking  wretches  grasp  its  stinging  folds 

With  the  tenacity  of  utter  woe, 

And,  though  their  hearts  are  bursting,  still  they  cling 

'Till  their  frames  mingle  with  the  hell-fold  night 

And  they  are  changed  to  demons ! — Light  as  pure 

As  Him  from  whom  it  issues  burns  above, 

And  songs  of  glory  echo  yells  of  pain. 

With  one  deep,  hollow,  rending  groan  the  Earth 

Dissolved  and  fell  in  fiery  particles 

Through  the  dense  darkness  of  chaotic  worlds; 

And  'mid  the  horror-palsied  multitudes 

The  fiends  passed  with  infernal  laughter  while 

Unutterable  thoughts  of  bitter  woe 

Thronged  many  a  burning  brain  and  quivering  lips 

Strove  vainly  words  of  prayer  to  frame  and  tongue?, 

Erst  eloquent  coadjutors  of  thought, 

Hung  agonizing  d"own  till  they  became 

Serpents,  and  fastened  on  each  passer-by 

Convulsively,  and  desperate  bands  there  stood 

Close  woven  to  each  other's  agony, 

Yet  every  moment  aggravating  pain 

General  by  private  instances  of  spite. 

Time  hurried  to  a  resting-place  to  die, 

And  as  he  hastened  on,  prepared  to  leave 

His  mission;    Death's  keen  scythe  he  downward  threw, 

And,  flashing  in  hell's  fires,  its  piercing  edge 

Was  ever  o'er  the  suffering  sinners'  heads, 

Menacing  vengeance  yet  protracting  dread  ; 

The  glass,  that  numbered  hours,  now  poured  its  sands 

By  centuries  and  'mid  a  meteor's  glare 

Above,  he  hung  it  awfully  distinct 

To  eyes  that  wept  their  owners'  bosom  blood, 

And,  when  they  asked  the  close  of  their  fierce  pain, 

A.  vivid  flame  flashed  upward  and  displayed 

ETERNITY  ! — Then  Time  fell  down  and  died. 

But  as  he  fell,  amid  the  awful  scenes 

Of  horror  and  despair,  I  saw  two  forms 

Beautiful  celestially  bend  o'er  the  verge 

Of  billowy  chaos  with  a  look  of  woe 


52 

And  agony,  and  then  in  fond  embrace 
Rise  upward  joyously  ;  a  deadly  moan 
Went  through  the  universe  as  fleet  they  fled, 
For  they  were  Love  and  Innocence  ! 


EVENING. 

The  crimson  waves  of  undulating  light 

Are  blending  with  the  azure  sea  of  Heaven, 

In  the  sublimity  of  beauty,  while 

The  softest,  sweetest,  balmiest  breath  of  eve 

Fans  fleecy  clouds  with  fragrance  as  along 

The  sky's  blue  arch  they  sail,  like  angel  wings 

O'er  Lebanon  and  Olivet ;  and  far 

In  the  cerulean  ether  soar  the  birds 

Of  heaven  in  joyance  such  as  if  they  felt 

The  all-pervading  holiness,  and  knew 

The  Deity  who  rules  the  universe. 

The  whispering  breeze  amid  the  twinkling  leaves, 

That  dance  to  Zephyr's  song,  speaks  gently  sweet 

In  answer  to  the  voice  of  waters  far 

Warbling  along  their  pebbled  path,  beneath 

The  purpling  light,  which  shadows  out  the  trees, 

And  hills,  and  rocks,  so  mirror-like,  that  eye 

Of  wandering  solitary  could  trace  the  form, 

Being  and  nature  of  each  object  there. 

The  mountain's  brow  is  crowned  with  glory — wreaths 

Of  purest  radiance  circle  every  tree, 

And  shrub,  and  low  bush  there  ;   while  far  below 

In  the  rock-barred  ravine,  no  lonely  ray 

Wanders  amid  the  gloom.     The  scene  is  like 

The  sun-browed  thought  of  rapture,  soaring  high 

In  intellectual  majesty,  and  full 

Of  holiest  emotions,  while  it  wings 

its  flight  through  realms  empyreal,  and  then' 

Drooping  and  falling  lifeless  on  the  dark, 


53 


Unholy,  false  and  melancholy  earth. 
Hills  feathered  with  their  shrubbery  redolent, 
And  cliffs  with  moss  and  lichens  robed,  and  boughs 
Of  loftiest  trees  adorned  with  blushing  flowers, 
Jasmines,  lianas  and  all  woodland  vines, 
High  precipices,  rough  and  bare  as  when 
The  rocking  earthquake  left  them — ail  are  shown 
In  mimic  beauty,  like  reality, 
Upon  the  mirror  by  which  nature  decks 
Her  lovely  form — yon  little  sleeping  lake. 
The  latest  beam  of  evening  slumbers  now 
Upon  the  crystal  waters,  and  I  see 
A  world  within  the  azure  depth,  so  pure, 
So  full  of  happy  peacefulness,  I  long 
To  plunge  and  seek  out  pleasure  there,  and  dwell 
In  that  sweet  home  of  waters,  ever  mid 
The  best  of  friends — woods,  rocks  and  silver  waves, 
Whose  speaking  silence  innocently  tells 
All  I  can  feel  of  pure  beatitude. 
But  woe  loves  loveliest  things,  and  I  might  find 
Sorrow  there  even,  were  it  as  it  seems, 
And  not  a  mockery  as  'tis ! — The  soft, 
Love-breathing  vesper  breeze  plays  o'er  the  smooth 
Expanse  delightfully,  and  curls  and  crisps 
And  crinkles  the  blue  waves,  while  autumn  dew 
Wets  the  green  leaves  that  have  o'ercanopied 
The  lake  the  live-long  day,  untouched  by  drop 
Of  its  serenest  waters — oh,  how  sweet 
Is  nature's  quietude!  the  lulling  lapse 
Of  purling  brook  through  vales  of  verdure  rich, 
And  generous  of  their  richness,  and  the  sound 
Most  musical  of  down-winged  winds,  are  songs 
Of  gladness  she  doth  ever  raise  to  Heaven. 
In  gratitude  of  still  devotion;  all 
Her  votaries  are  fond  of  gentle  thoughts, 
And  pure  desires,  and  high  imaginings, 
And  noblest  aspirations,  seeking  out 
A  dwelling  far  from  turbulence  and  strife, 
And  noise,  and  folly,  and  corrupting  sin. 
Nature  doth  teach  her  lessons  in  a  tongue 
S* 


54 

All  can  enjoy ;  and  what  she  teaches  norre 

Of  saints  and  sages  past  could  imitate. 

There  is  a  pure  divinity,  unwarped 

By  damning  creed  or  dogma  stern,  in  all 

Her  sacred  teachinss,  and  a  holy  voice 

Of  loftiest  wisdom  rises  from  the  depth 

Of  her  most  silent  solitude  to  teach 

And  counsel  her  infatuated  sons, 

In  everlast'fng  faithfulness — 'twere  well 

Man  weened  and  recked  of  her  advisings  more. 

.Wight's  star-winged  angels  in  the  firmament 

Are  setting  watch,  and  hastily  they  come 

Forth  in  the  blup  concave,  like  the  fond  hopes 

Of  young  desire  o'er  the  unwounded  heart. 

Faintly  the  dying  light  of  day  illumes 

The  western  horizon,  and  shadows  flit 

O'er  grove  and  dale  and  stream  and  hill  alike, 

For  every  object  here  is  beautiful, 

And  worthy  such  rich  robes  of  light  and  shade. 

Oh,  that  each  scene  yon  everlasting  sun 

Lightens,  were  worthy  his  celestial  beams! 

On'  feudal  towers  and  castles,  where  the  groans 

Of  death  and  bondage  worse  than  death  have  rung' 

Through  dungeon  vaults,  till  every   echoed  tread, 

For  centuries,  awoke  despairing  cries, 

And  voices  of  wild  agony ;  on  mosque, 

Whose  shrine's  deep  font  is  filled  with  blood  for  rite 

Baptismal,  and  where  muftis  tell  of  joys 

Sensual  and  hellish,  as  pure  delights 

Of  after-being  in  man's  paradise  ; 

On  palaces  of  pomp  and  crime,  and  huts, 

Whose  inmates  gnaw  a  crust,  and  bless  the  hand 

That  gave  it ;  on  despair  and  hope,  delight 

And  anguish,  tumult,  peace,  and  purposes 

Of  noblest  pride  and  meannesses  most  vile; 

On  all  things  dreadful,  sweet,  detestable, 

Beautiful  and  loathsome,  thy  beams  alike 

Shine,  fire-robed  lord  of  heaven  !  and  if  from  the* 


55 

Alone  man  images  thy  Maker,  how 

Impartially  beneficent  he  is! 

The  faintest  blushing  of  departed  day 

Hath  gone,  and  russet  mantled  night  glides  o'er 

The  eternal  hills,  as  softly  as  the  young 

Mother  trips  round  the  cradle  of  her  child. 

Oh,  that  I  could  divest  myself  of  life 

Corporeal,  and  leaving  this  poor  load 

Of  clay  to  mingle  with  its  kindred  earth, 

Imbibe  an  elemental  being — live 

In  the  blue  ether  and  float  joyously 

Through  realms  of  upper  air  and  feast  my  soul 

On  sun-beams  t     It  were  godlike  fate  to  dwell 

Amid  the  unbounded  universe  and  be 

A  star  or  moon-beam,  on  which  angels  light 

In  their  ethereal  wanderings,  and  chant 

Empyreal  songs.     The  infinite  desire 

Of  such  celestial  fate  doth  swell  my  heart, 

And  amplify  my  spirit  to  the  embrace 

Of  thoughts  immeasurable — feelings  so 

Tremblingly  glorious,  I  would  not  pause 

For  one  farewell  if  I  could  rise  and  be 

The  merest  part  of  those  most  holy  beams 

Whose  radiance  now  gleams  o'er  another  sphere. 

Alas!  the  bitter,  false,  ungrateful  world 

Doth  class  me  with  her  multitudes  ;  and  'mid 

The  sinning  and  the  sorrowing,  the  vile, 

The  mean,  the  wretched,  and  the  grovelling,  still 

Must  be  my  dwelling-place.     I  loathe  and  hate, 

Avoid  and  dread  the  stinging  viper  brood 

That  crawl  around  ;  and  were  I  one  like  them, 

I  would  seek  out  a  midnight  den  to  hide 

My  person  from  the  sun.     O  mother  Earth  ! 

Beautiful  daughter  of  the  Spirit-Sire  ! 

Thou  wert  a  paradise,  till  man,  the  fiend, 

Changed  thee  to  hell  by  his  all-nameless  deeds. 


56 

THE  DREAM. 

Upon  the  rainbow's  prismy  pinions, 

When  soul  was  young  and  airy, 

And  dancing  o'er  the  pale-blue  sky, 

A  wild-tressed  little  Fairy, 

In  azure  robes  bedecked  with  gold, 

Came  smiling  on  my  eye, 

And  breathing  o'er  my  lovelit  heart 

The  odours  of  the  sky. 

Around  her  thronged  aerial  shapes, 
On  her  wild  eye-beam  sailing, 
And  other  forms  in  sapphic  notes 
Among  the  Pleiads  hailing, 
While  wavy  music,  floating  far, 
Embalmed  each  hallowed  feeling, 
And  the  heart's  voice  in  thrilling  notes 
On  the  soul's  ear  was  stealing. 

Rapture  behind  the  Fairy  stood, 

And  rolled  his  sun-beam  eye, 

And,  as  he  swept  his  angel  lyre, 

The  everlasting  sky 

Its  golden  waves  of  ether  threw 

Along  his  swelling  brow, 

And  heavenly  choirs  their  music  poured 

Enchantingly  below. 

Soft  Pleasure  twined  the  Fairy's  locks 

Around  her  silver  wires, 

And  Echo  languished  meltingly, 

While  all  the  fond  desires 

Came  dancing  from  the  palmy  isles 

Of  rich  Hesperides, 

To  wanton  in  the  amber  waves 

Of  music's  sounding  seas. 

The  Fairy  sat  on  rainbow  throne, 
Amid  her  lovely  train, 


And  as  I,  spell-bound,  gazed  on  high. 

1  heard  a  seraph  strain ; 

It  bore  my  spirit  on  its  wing 

To  realms  by  man  unseen, 

And  paradise  enraptured  lay 

Heaven's  pillared  fanes  between. 

'Twas  Psyche's  song,  the  Fairy's  voice, 
And  Eden's  angel  lyre, 
And  every  holy  strain  it  tuned 
Did  thrilling  love  inspire  ; 
Transparent  on  full  many  a  brow 
The  mighty  spirit  shone, 
And  rapt  Devotion  bowed  and  knelt 
Before  the  rainbow  throne. 

The  strain  was  past — another  rose, 

But  trembling,  trilling,  low  ; 

Its  notes  seemed  deep,  but  unexprest, 

And  sweet  but  full  of  woe  ; 

'Twas  Eden's  lyre  I  heard,  but  touched 

By  Doubt's  distrusting  hand, 

And  tears  were  shed  and  sorrow  reigned 

'Mid  all  the  astonished  band. 

The  music  then  came  mournfully, 

Like  panting  evening  breeze, 

And  light  shone  forth  like  moon  beams  waij» 

Amid  lone  willow  trees, 

And  hearts  dissolved  in  pity's  tears 

At  Grief's  regretful  strain, 

While  star-winged  angels  bent  from  heaven, 

And  sadly  sung  again. 

.  My  melting  eye  in  sorrow's  dew 
Lost  vision  for  a  time, 
But,  when  I  raised  its  look  again, 
A  Shape  in  gloom  sublime 


Was  scattering  wide  the  rainbow  throne, 

And  stamping  on  the  lyre, 

And  darting  from  his  meteor  eye 

A  wild  and  wasting  fire. 

A  sable  host  with  eyes  of  guilt 

Pursued  his  desert  way, 

And  lightning  flared  and  thunder  crashed, 

But,  fiercer  still  than  they, 

Despair  went  on  in  fiery  gloom 

Through  realms  once  fair  afar, 

And  Hope,  the  Fairy's  shrieks  were  heard 

Amid  the  ruthless  war. 

The  sunbow  bright  I  stood  upon 

In  othcv  distant  sphere 

Dissolved  and  midnight's  fading  dream 

Disclosed  no  cause  of  fear ; 

But  yet,  methought,  the  spirit's  lyre 

Will  echo  music  only 

Unto  the  spirit's  magic  touch 

Ere  sorrow  leaves  it  lonely. 


ADIO. 

Farewell !  the  Hope  that  led  me  on 

Was  sorrow's  orphan  child, 
And  thou  may'st  think,  when  I  am  gone, 

That,  though  my  love  was  wild, 
I  did  but  seek  a  home  for  one 

To  whom  Despair  was  brother, 
And  prayed  that  thou  would'st  kindness  OWB» 

Since  he  desired  no  other, 


59 

But  them  didst  kiss  the  wandering  child, 

AnrI  fold  iiim  to  thy  he;i'-t, 
And,  whuii  of  -il'  IMS  sweets  beguiled, 

Thou  bad'si  the  boy  depart ; 
Oh  !  liadst  thou  never,  never  smiled 

Upon  his  vows  of  love, 
His  life  away  had  not  been  whiled 

'Mid  passion's  dreamy  grove. 

Young  Hope  had  lived  in  orphanage 

His  childhood's  wandering  hours, 
But  he  for  fair  creation's  page 

Had  culled  celestial  flowers;  • 

And,  than  the  scenes  that  did  engage 

His  earlier  thought,  his  mind 
Was  purer  at  his  infant  age, 

More  gentle  and  refined. 

Farewell  !  Young  Hope  his  mournful  tale 

Hath  eloquently  told  thee, 
And  thou  hast  heard  his  requiem  wail 

From  those  who  madly  sold  thee ; 
'Tis  long,  since  died  the  orphan  pale, 

And  he  hath  gone  forever, 
But  he  charged  Love  when  life  did  fail — 

"  Forsake  her  not — no,  never !" 


MIDNIGHT. 

To  sit  beneath  the  moon's  translucent  beam, 
And  drink  her  light  with  melancholy  eye  ; 
To  hear  the  music  of  the  bubblins:  stream, 
And  read  the  star-lit  volumes  of  the  sky ; 
To  muse  on  blighted  loves  and  hopes  gone  by, 
E'en  as  the  moonlight  shadows  flit  away, 
And  wander  o'er  the  land  of  memory, 
And  count  the  pangs  of  each  succeeding  day — 
Alas !  the  tale  is  sad — more  sad  the  picturing  lay. 


But  'tis  the  hour  of  retrospective  thought, 
When  all  the  past  before  us  lives  again  ; 
And  loves  and  pleasures  with  contentment  bought 
Return  upon  us  like  the  shapes  of  pain  ; 
And  Hope's  gay  song  and  Fancy's  syren  strain 
Come  with  a  requiem  echo  on  the  soul ; 
And  dead  desires,  a  shadowy,  spectral  train, 
The  pang-writ  record  of  their  fate  unroll, 
And  agonize  the  heart  that  owned  their  wild  control. 

The  pale, pure  moon  looks  innocently  down 
Upon  this  warring  world,  with  such  a  smile 
Of  soft  derision  as  her  eye  may  own  ; 
And,  as  she  passes  many  a  starry  isle, 
Pauses  to  weep  at  deeds  that  do  defile 
The  lovely  earth,  and  change  its  young  delights 
To  agonies — and  angels  sigh  the  while 
That  man  doth  desecrate  those  glorious  nights, 
When  heaven's  gem-studded  arch  refracts  seraphic  lights, 

The  silver  stream  of  Dian's  pearly  rays 
Flows  o'er  this  world  of  crime  and  sin  and  war, 
As  erst  it  did  in  young  creation's  days, 
Ere  fiend-like  pnssion  could  the  beauty  mar 
Of  thought  and  feeling,  and  each  lovely  star 
Gilds  smiling  scenes  of  love  and  loveliness 
With  the  same  diamond  beams  as  when  from  far 
It  looked  on  Eden,  and  the  soft  caress 
Of  innocence  beheld  its  holy  joys  express. 

The  world  is  beautiful ;  the  azure  arch 
Is  paved  with  gems  for  angels'  gliding  tread, 
And.  when  their  starry  plumes  wave  back  in  march, 
Delicious  music,  through  the  concave  spread, 
Floats  round  the  sleeper's  softly  pillowed  head, 
And  dreams  of  glory  o'er  his  spirit  throws; 
And  lovely  nature,  by  devotion  led, 
Like  Iran's  nightingale  beside  the  rose, 
On  young,  untainted  spirits  holiness  be&tovvs. 


61 


Holy,  delightful  and  unchanging,  Heaven, 
On  sin  and  sorrow  and  vicissitude 
Gazes  with  grief  and  pity  that  'tis  given 
Man  the  strange  will  of  his  own  studied  good 
To  be  the  foe,  and  kill  in  sullen  mood 
The  rosy  hopes  that  cost  him  pain  to  rear ; 
And  white-haired  time,  while  wrath  doth  deeply  brood 
O'er  wrong  and  its  atonement,  smiles  to  hear 
The  deep-laid  schemes  of  hate,  whose  fruit  cannot  appear, 

But  'tis  the  nature  of  aspiring  man 
To  mourn,  to  sigh,  and  word  in  maddened  speech 
His  wrongs  and  sorrows  ;  what  his  pride  began 
His  hate  will  finish;  what  his  passions  teach 
His  deeds  will  reverence,  till  beyond  the  reach 
Of  rivalry  his  spirit  soars  and  bears 
Its  honors  o'er  his  fellows  ;  each  from  each 
Of  mortal  kind  his  loves,  desires  and  fears 
Borrows — and  'tis  not  strange  the  debt  is  paid  in  tears. 

The  varied  brilliance  of  the  chequered  beams 
Falling  on  stream,  grove,  rock,  and  mountain  dell, 
Are  like  the  spirit's  momentary  gleams 
Of  holy  loveliness  when  upward  swell 
Feelings  too  raptured  their  delight  to  tell, 
And  loves  too  sweet  their  sweetness  to  unfold, 
That  dwell  a  moment — when  the  night  of  hell 
Comes  o'er  their  beauty,  and  the  shuddering  cold 
Of  anguish  unrepressed  chills  hopes  too  soon  unrolled. 

The  moonlight  radiance  of  the  sapphire  sky 
Engenders  shadows  o'er  the  dark-robed  earth, 
As  the  bright  gleamings  of  hope's  diamond  eye 
Throw  shades  o'er  all  the  phantoms  of  her  birth ; 
The  undying  light  of  undissembling  worth 
Derives  its  beauty  from  the  darkness  drear 
It  round  illumines;  and  man  wanders  forth 
Alone,  the  hermit  of  a  desert  sphere, 
To  read  the  flitting  lights  and  shadows  that  appear 
-€ 


62 

What  is  philosophy  but  abstract  thought 

On  never-ending  sin  and  woe  and  crime, 

Meting  by  method  all  the  sorrows  bought 

By  wearying  years.,  and  classifying  time 

In  portions  of  despair  ?  Howe'er  sublime 

Its  contemplations  are,  disease  and  want 

And  grief  in  generation  each  and  clime 

The  nutriment  on  which  it  banquets  grant, 

And  serve  to  elevate  the  soul  they  erst  did  daunt. 

The  world  is  full  of  wretchedness,  and  while 
The  moralizing  man  doth  weep  and  sigh 
At  sin's  foul  leprosy,  a  sneering  smile 
Curls  the  proud  lip  and  flashes  from  the  eye 
Of  him  who  cries  that  none  can  ever  die 
Save  unto  ploasure;  that  the  spirit  rose 
From  dust  and  thither  will  return  ;  on  high 
Clouds  only  roll — we  make  and  nurse  our  woes — 
And  death  brings  dreamless  sleep,  and  deep,  unwaked  repose. 

The  argent  moon-ray,  darting  through  the  dense 
Cloud  of  green  foliage  in  yon  ravine 
Of  darkness,  doth  not  to  the  view  dispense 
More  sombre  hues,  than  mortal  mind,  I  ween, 
Throws  o'er  of  moral  life  each  changeful  scene  ; 
Nor  doth  the  struggling,  fluctuating  light 
More  darkly  bright  the  dripping  cliffs  between 
Appear,  than  dying  hopes  of  poor  delight 
Glimmering  amid  the  shades  of  sorrow's  roomless  night. 

Alone  beneath  the  starry  eyes  of  Heaven 
I  sit  upon  the  cold  rock's  moonlit  brow, 
For  while  soft  slumbers  to  the  world  are  given, 
Unpitying  gfief   will  none  to  me  allow ; 
The  rushing  rill's  unceasing  lapse  and  ftow, 
The  twinkling  forest  where  night  zephyr  sings, 
Beseem  the  voiceless  solitude  of  woe  ; 
And  thought  that  maddens,  and  despair  that  wrings, 
Can  find  relief  alone  beside  tjie  woodland  springs. 


63 


MUSINGS. 

The  youthful  heart  is  heir  to  wealth 

That  years  can  never  tell; 
The  youthful  soul  does  deeds  by  stealth 

That  might  in  triumph  swell — 
The  thought  that  tunes  a  generous  mind 

Oft  dies  upon  the  wing, 
And  bosoms  feeling,  fond  and  kind, 

Writhe  oft  'neath  torture's  sting. 

Gay  hope,  the  night-fire  of  the  brain, 

Allures  the  heart  to  woe 
With  beams,  that  pleasure  lends  to  pain 

This  faithless  world  to  show; 
And  we  are  sped  on  life's  lone  way 

By  gilded  goading  spears, 
While  flitting  fancy's  meteor  ray 

Emblazons  misery's  tears. 

The  deepest  woes  we  feel  below, 

The  wildest  throes  of  pain, 
From  our  own  fond  illusions  flow, 

When  sanguine  passions  reign  ; 
For  guileful  flattery  soothes  the  heart 

That  malice  turns  to  sting, 
And  love,  full  oft,  o'er  ruin's  dart 

Its  vermeil  veil  will  fling. 

Anticipations  ever  glow 

In  self-delusion's  light, 
While  sorrow's  tear  and  misery's  throe 

Sublime  the  heart's  delight; 
As  silver  clouds  in  fleecy  wreaths 

A  summer  sunbeam  shade, 
When  breezy  music  softly  breathes 
Along  the  waving  glade. 


64 

Undimmed  by  time,  the  youthful  eye 

Sheds  tears  unchilled  by  all 
Those  wayward  feuds,  that  burst  the  tie 

Of  love  when  envies  call, 
And  in  the  rudely  tilting  world 

Engender  woe  and  strife, 
When  friendship  from  his  seat  is  hurledt 

And  pride  companions  life. 

Darkness,  disease  and  doubt  will  blight 

The  fairest  dreams  of  bliss, 
And  rapture  plunge,  in  sorrow's  night, 

To  agony's  abyss ; 
The  fairy  frost-work  of  an  hour 

Decays  in  misery's  flame, 
And  false  and  vain  are  pomp  and  powery 

A,nd  fleeting  as  a  name. 


A  REVERIE. 

Mora  wakes  upon  the  mountain  hergh»» 

And  dim  and  duskily  along 
The  woodland  dale  glides  pensive  night, 

Listening  to  nature's  matin  song ; 
Her  russet  robes  and  tresses  dark 
'    Far  floating  o'er  the  pale-blue  sky, 
While  arrow-like,  the  wild-wing'd  lark 

Fans  heaven  with  joyous  minstrelsy. 

* 
But  why  wakes  man  with  drooping  eye, 

And  burning  brow,  and  heart  of  gloom  * 
Why  comes  no  soothing  melody 

From  his  dark  spirit's  breathing  tomb  ? 
The  bursting  sigh,  the  pallid  cheek, 


65 

The  quivering  voice,  and  look  of  care, 
An  unblest  soul  too  loudly  speak, 
A  heart  enthroned  by  grim  despair. 

Morn's  glories  bring  no  joy  to  him, 

Eve's  vermil  beauties  fade  unseen, 
His  hopes  are  gone,  his  eye  is  dim, 

The  present  pictures  what  has  been; 
Life  is  a  dream  of  wretchedness, 

The  world  a  prison  barr'd  by  woe, 
The  earth  a  grave  where  myriads  press, 

And  heaven  a  place  that  none  can  know. 

Starting  from  visions,  whose  false  light, 

Like  fire-flies  round  a  cataract, 
Deludes  the  wretch  to  endless  night, 

He  hurries  forth  to  feel  the  rack 
Of  ductile  malice,  and  to  tread 

Among  the  snares  of  villain  guile  ; 
To  sigh  in  doubt,  and  gaze  in  dread, 

And  fall  beneath  a  dagger-smile. 

The  spirit  that  can  span  the  skies, 

And  walk  divinely  realms  above, 
Is  torn  with  sorrow,  stung  with  lies, 

And  murdered  by  the  fiends  of  love  ; 
For  angels  oft  their  robes  impart 

To  shroud  a  demon's  venom'd  thrust, 
And  'tis  the  madness  of  the  heart 

That  makes  the  world  supremely  curst. 

The  iron  mantle,  flung  by  grief 

O'er  bosoms  scorched  by  lava  tears, 
'The  savage  feeling, past  relief, 

That  centres  all  the  pain  of  years ; 
The  wild-fire  rush  of  boiling  blood, 

The  thought  that  seems  to  burst  the  brain, 
Conquer  at  last  pride's  hardihood, 

And  time,  fate,  life  and  death  disdain. 


66 

Vain  is  the  searching  thought  intense,- 

That  struggles  in  the  expanding  mini}. 
And  vainer  still  the  joys  of  sense, 

For  hell  and  demons  rush  behind ;        v, 
Gloomy  'mid  mirth,  in  crowds  alone, 

Distrusting  good,  adopting  ill, 
Man  is  the  thing  he  dares  not  own, 

The  victim  of  his  own  wild  will. 

Youth  withers  'neath  the  blight  of  wrong, 

And  minds  of  mighty  birth  are  doomed 
To  perish  in  convulsions  strong, 

And  by  earth's  reptiles  be  entombed  ; 
While,  lanced  by  hatred's  gory  blade, 

And  probed  by  misery's  venomed  steel, 
The  heavenliest  hearts  are  naked  laid 

For  vice  to  balm,  and  hell  to  heal. 

A  wanderer,  seeking  hope's  pale  ghost, 

A  shadow  in  the  world's  wide  blaze, 
In  labyrinthine  mazes  lost 

For  blackening  nights  and  midnight  days, 
Led  by  delusion,  girt  by  woe, 

Followed  by  horror  and  remorse, 
Man  could  not  render  life  below 

More  dreary,  nor  the  world  make  worse. 


THE  BANQUET  HALL. 

Midnight  waned  in  the  ebon  sky, 

And  the  deep  blue  vault  of  Heaven  was  still, 
Save  the  warning  voice  of  the  angel's  cry, 

As  he  watched  the  fiends  on  Zion  hill. 
His  warder  notes  in  the  depths  of  night 

Are  heard  alone  by  the  minstrel's  ear, 


67 

(For  the  high  star-beam,  as  it  gilds  the  sight, 

Has  a  voice  that  fancy's  soul  may  hear  ;) 
And  the  sleeping  earth  in  silence  lay, 

Dreaming  of  love  or  hate  or  wo, 
And  the  lulling  lapse  of  a  streamlet's  play 

Rose  faint  and  far  in  the  moonlight  glow  ; 
And  I  wandered  on  in  reverie  lost, 

'Till  the  brutal  roar  of  a  revel  rout 
The  circling  current  of  fancy  crossed, 

And  made  the  waked  sense  gaze  about  ; 
When  the  flaring  lights  of  the  banquet  hall,. 

And  the  noisy  rush  of  revelry, 
And  the  mummery  mask,  and  sparkling  ball, 

Burst  on  my  ear,  and  heart,  and  eye. 
And  I  stood  and  mused  of  the  forms  that  there 

Displayed  their  charms  to  the  losel's  view, 
And  the  visored  smile  that  masked  despair, 

And  the  scornful  laugh  that  ne'er  was  true  ;. 
The  silent  pain  of  a  dazzling  breast, 

The  feverish  throb  of  a  jewelled  brow, 
The  painful  wish  to  seem  most  blest 

When  sighing  with  excess  of  wo  ; — 
And  the  sight  did  chill  my  aching  eye 
As  I  mused  of  that  gaudy  misery. 

The  joys  that  live  in  a  faithful  heart, 

Devoted  to  Heaven  and  changeless  love, 
Were  all  unknown  in  that  crowded  mart, 

Where  pleasure's  votaries  torture  prove— • 
The  palled  pursuit  of  joyless  show, 

The  gay  resort  of  gloomy  souls, 
Where  truth  would  count  the  pulse  of  wo  ; 

Though  truth  her  banner  ne'er  unrolls 
In  such  a  masquerade  of  guile — 
If  each  dared  look  beneath  a  smile. 

The  glare  waxed  dim  as  I  gazed  alone, 
And  the  fairy  forms  I  saw  were  gone  ; 
And  the  rushing  sound  of  mirth  and  glee 


68 

Retired  like  the  waves  of  a  stormy  sea. 
What  pillows  of  fear  will  the  revellers  press  ? 
What  dreams  be  their's  of  happiness? 
When  those  gemmed  robes  are  laid  aside, 
Where  will  their  mirth  be,  pomp  and  pride  ? 
The  beds  that  ye  press,  I  envy  not, 
Nor  your  heartless  joys  and  painful  lot. 

I  entered  at  morn — and  it  came  full  soon, 

To  the  banquet  hall  and  the  proud  saloon; 

And  many  a  vestige  of  revelry  there 

Told  of  past  pleasure — but  where,  oh  where, 

Were  the  forms  and  the  shadows,  so  bright  and  gay  .' 

Hide  it  from  earth,  both  love  and  lay  ! 

The  vacant  chair,  and  the  goblet  broken, 

And  scattered  viands,  were  many  a  token 

Of  what  had  been — aud  my  lonely  eye 

Wandered  o'er  all  as  a  saddened  sigh 

Stole  from  my  heart,  at  the  mournful  view 

Of  the  wreck  of  those  joys  that  man  thinks  true. 


THE  CHICAPEE. 

On  a  moss-cushioned  cliff  o'er  the  stream  of  Montzeil, 

Far  away  from  the  haunts  of  my  loveliest  days, 
When  the  soft  shades  of  evening  in  mellowness  steal 

O'er  lawn,  grove  and  lea  amid  zephyr's  sweet  lays, 
And  dewy-lipp'd  naiads  are  scudding  the  stream, 

While  music  is  waving  in  their  long  sunny  hair, 
And  sylph  forms  in  moonlight,  as  they  glide  atvay,  seem 

Like  the  shapes  that  we  lov'd  in  the  lost  days  that  were ; 
O  then,  as  the  wave  of  Montzeil  trickles  on, 

I  muse  of  the  hours  that  smiled  brightly  o'er  me, 
And  I  seem  once  again,  with  the  youth  that  have  gone 

On.  the  musical  shores  of  the  lone  Ch icapee. 


69 


Since  the  days  of  our  childhood,  when  the  heart  was  the  throne 

Of  affection  and  feeling  by  malice  unstung, 
And  the  spirit  aspiring  developed  in  tone 

Each  young  thought  of  beauty  as  brightly  it  sprung, 
I  have  wandered  afar  from  the  home  of  my  love, 

And  read  the  false  world  with  the  eye  of  despair, 
While  the  green  earth  below,  and  the  blue  sky  above 

The  pall  of  my  sorrows  seem'd  ever  to  wear  ; 
And  my  pathway  has  teemed  with  the  vipers  of  hate, 

The  insects  of  folly,  and  reptiles  of  scorn, 
And  the  fierce'voice  of  woe,  and  the  wild  shrieks  of  fate 

Have  echoed  around  me  all  lonely  and  lorn. 


On  the  proud-rolling  Hudson  full  oft  I  have  sailed 

With  a  father  who  sleeps  in  the  dust  by  its  shore, 
By  Savarinah's  dark  stream  I  have  wander'd  and  wailed 

For  the  heart-enshrin'd  friend  who  can  guide  me  no  more ; 
Pawtuxet  has  lost  all  its  charms  and  its  hues, 

For  the  youth,  that  once 'thronged  its  wild  woods  with  me 
Are  scattered  afar  in  their  feelings  and  views, 

Like  the  leaves  of  our  bowering  and  revelling  tree  ; 
Pale-blue  Housatenic  chimes  the  low  dirge  of  love,    •- 

For  Ellen  no  more  tunes  its  music  for  me 
But  through  the  yet  blooming  and  musical  grove 

Still  lovingly  soft  flows  the  lone  Chicapee. 


On  the  green-sloping  banks  of  that  beautiful  stream, 

Thou  slumber' st,  my  sister,  in  the  sleep  of  the  dead, 
While  zephyrs  wave  o'er  thee,  and  bright  planets  beam, 

And  roses  and  violets  perfume  thy  dark  bed  ! 
The  birds  of  sweet  voices  are  singing  around, 

And  the  willow  I  planted  has  grown  far  above 
Thy  grave,  and  the  spot  has  become  like  the  ground 

That  embraces  no  form  of  unspeakable  love. 
Yet  I  live  in  this  world  of  deep  sorrow  alone, 

And  1  hear  those  strange  voices  that  tell  me  of  thee, 
While,  mingling  with  crowds  of  bright  beings,  I  moan 

For  a  place  by  thy  side  on  the  lone  Chicapee, 


70 

RETROSPECTION. 

Love  of  my  sad  and  lonely  Youth  !  to  thee 

I  bowed  my  spirit  in  deep  ecstacy, 

And  when  most  thrall'd  esteemed  myself  most  free 
From  lowly  earth's  polluting  stains, 
And  sorrow's  self-engendered  pains, 

And  all  that  saints  mourn  over  and  regret ; 
Fci-  deep-felt  passion  purifies  the  heart, 
And,  when  the  signet  of  true  love  is  set, 
Sublime  conception  will  its  thought  impart^ 

And  noblest  virtue  ever  sway 

The  joyous  life  from  day  to  day. 

Those  holy  hours  of  heavenly  love  we  past 
Their  incense  yet  o'er  life's  lone  path-way  cast, 
And  through  my  being  will  their  influence  last, 

Though,  like  the  light  of  paradise 

To  suffering  sinner's  straining  eyes, 

Their  pure,  unearthly  splendor  in  the  gloom 
Of  dark  misfortune  and  unceasing  woe, 
Gleams  like  the  baleful  torch-light  of  the  tomb, 
And  haggard  shapes  and  ghastly  forms  doth  show 
To  eyes,  that  once  on  beauty  shone, 
And  met  love  true  as  was  their  own.. 

Love  of  my  dark  and  lonely  youth  !  thy  name, 
Unread,  unheard,  no  mortal  power  shail  claim, 
For,  though  I'm  changed,  yet  I  am  still  the  same 

To  thee,  my  heart's  eternal  bride  ! 

My  spirit's  life,  and  joy  and  pride  ! 

When  far  retired  from  earth's  unfeeling  things 
I  hold  communion  with  the  days  gone  by, 
And  when  my  soul  on  high  devotion's  wings 
Reads  the  bright  volume  of  eternity, 
I  think  of  thee,  and  whispering  tell 
Thy  name  to  those  who  loved  as  well. 


71 

Another  claimed  thy  wedded  love  and  thon 
Didst  yield  response  to  his  enamoured  vow, 
And  on  the  earth  there's  nothing  left  me  now 

But  coldness,  sorrow  and  neglect, 

(Erst  of  such  fate  I  little  reck'd.) 

But  in  the  pride  of  suffering  I  will  bear 

The  past,  the  present  and  the  future's  ills, 

And  only  think  of  thee  as  one  in  prayer 

Doth  think  of  heaven — and  though  my  heart  oft  thrills 

At  sound  of  name  too  like  to  thine, 

No  eye  in  me  snail  grief  divine. 

I  blame  thee  not,  sweet  one  !  that  thou  didst  spealc 
Love  to  my  passion,  for  my  heart  was  weak, 
And  fondly  leaned  on  what  was  sure  to  break  ; 

I  blame  thee  not — the  time  hath  gone 

When  I  did  wish  tfiee  for  my  own. 

Back  o'er  the  desert  of  anterior  life 

I  gaze  in  sorrow  not  with  joy  unblent, 

For  childhood's  dreams  and  youth's  enkindling  strife 

Have  lost  the  illusion  that  they  whilom  lent, 

And  guile  hath  chilled  my  feelings  so 

I  would  not  change  for  bliss  my  woe. 

Long  time  hath  past— lone,  leaden-winged  hours, 
Days,  months  and  years  since  Housatonic's  bowers 
Heard  zephyr  wantoning  among  the  flowers 

To  lovers'  soft  and  witching  lay ; 

And  many  a  lingering,  lonely  day 

Since  then  hath  hung  like  mountain  on  my  mind, 
And  seemed  eternal  as  the  vault  above  ; 
And,  though  I've  lived  in  misery,  yet  resigned 
I  could  have  been  to  sacrifice  my  love, 

Hadst  thou  not  lost,  the  while,  thy  bloom, 

And  wert  thou  not  so  near  the  tomb, 


72 

But  such  is  youthful  love — all  passion,  fire, 
Fever  and  frenzy — all  beyond  desire, 
Or  hope,  or  aim,  save  what  it  doth  inspire 
Of  paradise  that  turns  to  hell 
With  all  who  love  long,  fond  and  well. 

Moments  of  bliss  no  human  heart  can  bear 
Prelude  dark  years  of  misery  and  pain ; 
Rapture  lends  venom  unto  fierce  despair, 
And  youth's  gay  hopes  in  age  deep  sorrows  reign. 

The  heart  that  love  leaves  desolate 

Becomes  the  seat  of  settled  hate. 


SONNET. 

Of  Jove  and  sunny-haired  Mnemosyne 

0  high-souled  Daughter !  If  in  these  sad  lays 
Or  thought  or  feeling  gleam  and  live,  the  pr.aif.  • 
Is  due,  high  Priestess  of  the  Lyre  !  to  thee. 
E'en  in  the  earliest  days  of  memory 

My  undirected  musings  wandered  forth 
From  dull  oppression  and  unmannered  mirth, 
And  held  high  converse,  'neath  the  old  oak  tre- 

1  loved,  with  thee,  O  tearful  Goddess !    Left 
An  infant  orphan,  and  enslaved  by  those 
Who,  kindred  friends,  became  my  bitterest  foes  ; 
In  childhood  of  a  sister-love  bereft, 

And  ever  haunted  by  the  fiends  of  ill; 
Queen  of  lone  hearts !  as  then  I  love  thee  still ! 


THE  SISTERS  OF  ST  CLARA, 


BY  SUMNER  L.  FAIRFIELD 


PORTLAND: 

PRINTED  BX  TODD  AND  SMITH, 
1825, 


TO 

PROFESSOR  EVERETT, 

WHOSE  EMIJSENT  TALENTS 

HAVE  VINDICATED  AND  ADORNED 

AMERICAN  LITERATURE, 


IN  TESTIMONY  OF  HIGHEST  RESPECT 

FOR  HIS 

VARIOUS  ERUDITION 

AND  ACCOMPLISHED  ABILITIES, 

IS  DEDICATED  BY 

THE  AUTHOR, 


sestets  of 

A  PORTUGUESE  TALE. 


CANTO  I. 

I. 

rTis  the  bridal  of  nature,  the  season  of  spring, 
When  Pleasure  flits  round  on  her  diamond  wing, 
And  the  spirit  plays  brightly  and  fondly  and  free, 
Like  gem-dropping  beams  on  a  boundless  blue  sea, 
And  the  young  heart  is  lit  by  the  beams  of  love's  eye, 
Like  an  altar  of  perfume  by  fi.es  of  the  sky. 
'Tis  the  heart-blooming  season  of  innocent  love, 
When  the  green  growing  mead  and  the  whispering  grove 
And  the  musical  stream  as  it  purls  o'er  the  dale, 
And  the  flowers  whose  lips  zephyr  woos  in  the  vale, 
Are  seen  with  the  spirit  of  thrilling  delight 
As  visions  of  beauty  too  passingly  bright, 
And  heard  like  the  songs  that  come  o'er  us  in  dreams 
When  the  soul's  magic  light  through  infinity  gleams. 
The  gay  Earth  is  vestured  with  verdure  and  flowers, 
And  Hope  sings  away  the  sweet  sunny  hours, 
While  bathing  in  sunbeams  or  over  the  sky 
Her  star-pinions  waving  through  glories  on  high. 
The  citron  groves  throw  on  the  wings  of  the  breeze 
Their  balm-breathing  flowers,  an;i  the  green  orange  trees 
Harp  sweetly  in  airs  from  the  hill  and  the  sea, 
Like  lyres  heard  unseen  singing  joys  yet  to  be. 
O  Eden  of  beauty  !  Lusitania  !  the  sun 
Loves  to  linger  awhile,  when  his  journey  is  done, 
7 


74 


On  the  lofty  twin  Pillars,  whose  brows  in  the  sky 
Gleam  bright  when  the  sun-god  rides  flash! ngly  by, 
Which  stand  in  their  might  'mid  the  waves  of  the  sea- 
Abyla  and  Calpe — unconquered  and  free. 
And  Cintra's  dark  forests  look  smilingly  on 
Apollo  descending  from  his  chariot  throne, 
While  Estrella's  lagoon,  green  Escura  receives 
Sheen  tints  of  his  rays  from  the  wood's  gilded  leaves, 
AnH   Tajo's  broad  bay  like  a  mirror  reposes 
'Tween  a  heaven  of  light  and  a  garden  of  roses. 
I 

It 

The  sun's  last  beam  of  purple  light 
Emblazons  Calpe's  castle  height, 
And  over  Lusitania's  sea 
Looks  with  a  smile  of  melody. 
The  volcan  fires  of  ./Etna  glow 
Brighter  as  sinks  Hyperion  low, 
And,  'mjd  the  gathering  twilight,  high 
Stromboli  gazes  on  the  sky, 
O'er  dark-blue  ocean's  billowy  foam 
To  light  the  wandering  sailor  home. 
Child  of  the  sun,  the  dusky  Moor 
Watches  the  horizon,  bright  obscure, 
And,  while  the  fine-voiced  muezzin  calls 
Devotion's  hour,  from  Ceuta's  walls 
Throws  his  keen  eye's  far-searching  glance 
O'er  the  dark  billows  as  they  dance 
Along  the  Mauritanian  shore, 
And  listens  to  their  surging  roar 
Around  Abyla's  basement  deep, 
Lest  in  tired  nature's  twilight  sleep 
The  foe  upon  his  guard  should  steal, 
And  gain  the  pass  ere  trumpet  peal. 
Adverse,  the  gallant  Briton  stands 
On  Calpe's  height,  by  mortal  hands 
Unbuilt  and  views  with  Jofty  pride 
The  vast  sail  gleaming  o'er  the  tide, 
While  every  breeze  that  comes  from  far 


Wafts  music  from  red  Trafalgar. 

Evening's  dim  shadows  o'er  thee  close, 

Fair  Lusitania  !  and  the  rose 

Of  morning  blushes  o'er  thy  plains 

With  the  same  rich  and  gorgeous  light 

As  when  his  warlike,  wild  Ala>ns,   • 

O'er  forest,  flood  and  vale  and  height. 

From  Volga's  banks  Respedial  led 

To  Tajo's  darkly  wooded  shore, 

And  made  on  earth  his  royal  bed 

With  those  who  knew  their  king — no  more. 

And  the  sun  rolls  his  last  faint  beam 

O'er  princely  dome,  rose-margined  stream, 

And  almond  grove  and  jasmine  bower, 

With  the  same  smile  as  ere  that  hour 

When  man  the  heart  of  nature  stained, 

And  freedom  o'er  a  despot  reigned. 

But  Lusitania,  oh,  thy  fate 

Hath  changeful  been  and  desolate, 

For  leagured  by  war's  ruthless  hordes, 

And  rent  by  rival  feuds,  thy  crown 

Hath  fall'n  between  contending  swords, 

And  none  will  now  Braganza  own. 

III. 

The  full-orbed  moon  is  gleaming  bright 
On  Cintra's  dark  and  rocky  height, 
And  on  verandah,  turret,  tower, 
Palace  and  fane  at  this  still  hour 
Glows  with  a  radiant  smile  of  love, 
And  gilds  the  music-breathing  grove 
With  those  pure  beams  of  light  serene, 
Which  consecrate  the  peaceful  scene. 
From  wave  and  dome  and  field  and  grove 
Rise  the  soft  notes  of  pleading  love, 
And  many  a  strain  is  heard  from  far 
Of  wandering  lover's  sweet  guitar, 
And  in  the  songs  be  fondly  sings 


76 

Sfis  glowing  heart  finds  rainbow  wings, 
Which  bear  his  soul's  devoted  love 
"To  her  who  would  his  honor  prove. 
Dian — the  queen  of  sighs  and  tears, 
Her  richest  robe  of  beauty  wears, 
And  smiles  to  hear  the  vows  that  rise 
Beyond  her  dwelling  in  the  skies, 
While  still  she  weeps  in  prescient  pain 
That  passioned  love  is  worse  than  vain. 

IV. 

St  Clara's  dark  and  massy  dome, 
Deluded  vestals' hopeless  home, 
'Mid  the  dense  cypress  grove  uprears 
Its  ivied  turrets,  grey  with  years, 
And,  where  the  shadowy  moonlight  falls, 
Displays  its  blackened  prison  walls, 
Within  whose  solitary  cells 
Tearless  despair  for  ever  dwells,, 
And  sin,  beneath  devotion's  name, 
Reposes  in  its  sacred  shame, 
While  deeds  unweened  by  him  of  hell 
Are  done  in  murder's  fatal  cell. 

Within  St  Clara's  cloisters  doomed 

In  living  grave  to  be  entombed, 

Two  lovely  vestals,  young  and  fair, 

In  misery  dwelt  and  dark  despair. 

Their  loves  and  hopes  and  feelings  chained-,. 

Lone  sorrow  o'er  their  being  reigned, 

"Till  hope  arose  upon  their  eye, 

And  mighty  love's  deep  witchery 

Woke  the  fond  hearts  that  had  been  cruslietL 

And  the  soul's  sun-light  current  gushed. 

Like  roses  budding  on  one  stem 

Or  blendkig  hues  of  opal  gem, 

Lovely  they  sat  within  their  cell, 

Silent  'till  expectation's  swell  • 

Burst  o'er  each  thought  and  feeling  high,. 


77 

Like  sun-showers  from  the  azure  sky. 
Around  them  speaking  stillness  hung, 
'Till  Zulma's  glowing  feelings  sprung 
To  words  that  flowed  like  morning's  beam, 
Or  song  from  lips  of  seraphim. 
"  Sweet  Inez  !  fast  the  fearful  hour, 
"  When  we  shall  spurn  monastic  power, 
"Approaches,  and  our  spirits'  might 
"  Must  dare  the  Ordeal  of  to-night. 
"  The  church's  power,  our  father's  ire,. 
"  And  Heaven  perchance,  will  all  conspire 
"  To  quell  the  scheme  we  venture  on ; 
"  Then,  Inez,  'till  the  deed  is  done, 
"And  we  have  passed  their  power's  extent, 
"  Let  not  thy  dovelike  heart  relent 
"Nor  fancy  picture  punishment." 
"Oh,  lovely  Zulma,  hope  is  light 
"  Within  my  trembling  heart  to-night, 
"And  fain  this  aching  heart  would  prove 
"The  silent  joys  of  blissful  love. 
"But,  ah  !  my  path  in  life  has  been 
"  So  full  of  woe,  and  every  scene 
"Of  joy  so  soon  has  changed  to  grief, 
"I  fear  my  heart  will  find  relief 
"Never  'till  life  shalhcease  to  beat 
"Within  the  snow-white  winding-sheet." 
The  melting  beams  of  Inez'  eye 
Mingled  with  tears  of  misery; 
O'er  her  pale  cheek  and  blanching  brow 
Hope's  feverish  hectic  ceased  to  glow, 
And  through  her  heart  the  chilling  blight 
Of  fear,  like  gale  of  northern  night, 
Flew  with  a  deadly  freezing  breath^ 
That  laid  her  budding  joys  in  death. 

V. 

ZTTLMA'S  high  spirit  at  the  view 

Of  peril  more  undaunted  grew, 

And  glowed  'mid  sorrow's  gathering  gloom,. 


78- 

Like  angel  faith  above  the  tomb. 

In  danger's  hour  she  stood  alone, 

'Mid  fearful  things  the  fearless  one, 

And,  as  her  sunlight  spirit  burned 

O'er  the  deep  darkness  of  despair, 

The  trembling  fears  of  all  she  turned 

To  hopes  and  left  them  smiling  there. 

Her  broad  high  brow,  the  throne  of  thought, 

And  features  into  spirit  wrought ; 

Her  star  beam  eye,  and  look  of  light, 

And  moulded  form  that  chained  the  sight, 

And  swanlike  neck,  and  raven  hair, 

And  swelling  bosom,  richly  fair, 

Which  rose  and  sunk,  like  moonlight  sea, 

In  its  deep  passion's  ecstacy, 

As  if  her  mighty  heart  were  swelling 

In  sun-waves  for  its  heavenly  dwelling ; 

All  spake  a  spirit  proud  and  high, 

A.  wandering  seraph  of  the  sky. 

And  such  was  ZCLMA  ;    sorrow's  night 

Might  its  dark  shadows  o'er  her  cast, 

But  the  deep  gloom  her  spirit's  light 

Changed  into  rose  beams  as  it  past ; 

She  had  one  aim  and  none  beside 

Could  bend  her  lofty  lightning  pride, 

And,  eve  she  drooped,  she  would  have  died. 

Vemeira  knew  his  daughter  well, 

And  chained  her  spirit  in  a  cell 

Ere  she  could  know  the  desolate 

And  hopeless  woe  of  such  a  fate, 

And  'twas  an  elder  child's  delight 

To  serve  he  quelled  that  spirit  bright. 

VI. 

Timid  and  fearful  as  the  fawn, 
That  searches  ere  it  treads  the  glade,. 
Yet  lovely  as  a  springtime  dawrr 
In  robes  of  rosy  rays  arrayed  ; 
Wai m,  feeling,  soft  and  delicate 
As  the  last  blush  of  summer  eve, 
Tot  trembling  at  the  frown  of  Fate,. 


79 

Lest,  while  her  heart  did  sadly  grieve, 
Sin  should  assume  the  garb  of  woe,   _ 
And  shroud  in  gloom  devotion's  glow  -r 
INEZ,  though  fair  as  forms  that  rove 
Round  Fancy's  fondest  dream  of  love, 
Was  tender,  gentle,  fragile,  frail, 
And  shrinking  as  the  violet  pale 
Which  blooms  in  solitary  vale, 
By  zephyr  fanned  and  breathed  alone, 
Unseen,  unsought,  unprized,  unknown. 
Feelings  suppressed  and  thoughts  untold 
Flowed  silently,  like  liquid  gold, 
O'er  her  fond  heart,  while  virtue's  sun 
Threw  glory  o'er  them  as  they  run. 
Her  smiles  and  tears  alike  were  born 
In  purity  of  virgin  love, 
And,  like  bright  Eos,  child  of  morn, 
She  drank  at  streams  that  gush  above  ; 
For  sweetness  such  to  her  was  given, 
Her  faintest  prayer  was  heard  in  heaven. 

VII. 

When  Zulma  heard  her  sister's  plaint, 

And  saw  her  gentle  spirit  sink, 

Her  soul  arose  in  power — "  To  faint 

"While  standing  on  dark  ruin's  brink 

"Were  madness  worse  than  mirth  in  death 

"  When  love  and  happiness  await 

"  Our  flight,  to  droop  despair  beneath 

"Were  folly  that  deserved  the  fate." 

"  But  if  we  fail" — "  It  cannot  be  ! 

"Love,  like  the  mountain  breeze,  is  free, 

"And,  amid  peril,  wrong  and  ill, 

"  Strong  as  the  gale  that  sweeps  the  hill,. 

"Or  severing  ocean  in  its  might, 

"  Brings  long-lost  treasures  into  light." 

"But  will  beholding  heaven  approve 

u  Our  broken  vows  for  earthly  love  ?" 

"St  Mary  shrive  thee  '.  would'st  thou  be 


80 

"A  Vestal  in  hypocrisy  ? 

"Oh,  gentle  Inez,  guard  thy  love  ! 

"Count  Dion's  daring  quest  would  prove 

"But  folly's  dream  in  evil  hour, 

"If  thou  dost  spurn  the  boy-god's  power." 

Inez  arose,  her  blue  eye  flowed 

In  gushing  tears  of  pearly  light — 

''-Zulma,  my  heart  were  ill  bestowed  • 

"  If  Dion  called  me  false  to-night.'' 

"  Vemeira's  daughterstill  ! — O  Heaven  ! 

"Love's  messenger  his  call  has  given  ! 

"  Inez  !  that  rose,  by  Dion  thrown, 

"  Lay  on  thy  heart — it  is  thine  own — 

"And  haste  thee,  for  we  must  be  gone  1" 

The  soft  strain  of  a  sweet  guitar 

Now  mellowed  came  as  if  from  far, 

But,  artful  in  its  measured  fall, 

It  rose  by  dark  St  Clara's  wall, 

And,  mastered  by  Prince  Julian's  hand, 

Its  sweet  notes  flowed  so  richly  bland, 

They  told  unseen  the  minstrel  lover, . 

And  Zulma's  soaring  spirit  over 

Threw  breathless  rapture  as  she  fled 

From  her  lone  cell  with  footstep  light, 

While  Inez'  heart,  at  every  tread, 

Throbbed  with  wild  fears  of  deep  delight. 

VIII. 

Queen  of  the  skies  !  why  should  the  beams 
Of  ihy  soft  eye  so  richly  glow 
O'er  scenes  that  darkest  gloom  beseems, 
As  fitting  their  soul-harrowing  woe  ? 
Why  should  thy  smile  alike  illume 
Despair  and  Hope,  and  Love  and  Hate, 
The  bridal  mansion  and  the  tomb, 
Hearts  full  of  bliss  and  desolate  ? 
Empress  of  Heaven  !  oh,  thou  wort  made 
For  blooming  hearts  and  tearless  eyes, 
To  light  the  spirit's  serenade, 


81 

And  high-souled  love's  fond  ecstacies  ; 
And,  when  young  Time  in  Even's  bowers 
With  nature,  truth  and  simple  love 
Dwelt  and  wove  crowns  of  fragrant  flowers, 
While  Innocence  with  him  would  rove 
In  soothing  shade  of  fair-leaved  grove, 
And  smile  and  sing  in  loveliest  tone 
From  very  fulness  of  delight, 
When  Angels  looked  from  Glnry's  throne 
And  threw  around  her  robes  of  light  ; 
Ere  woe  was  born  of  sin,  and  crime 
Blotted  from  man's  corrupted  heart 
The  fairest  name  that  youthful  Time 
Had  written  there  with  magic  art  ; 
Ere  the  sad  hour  man's  father  fell, 
And  o'er  his  fall  rose  shouts  from  hell, 
Thou,  sky-throned  Isis  !  from  thy  throne 
In  all  thy  circuit  joy  alone 
Didst  see  with  bright,  love-beaming  eye 
Beneath  the  azure  arching  sky. 
Alas  !  thou  art  now  doomed  to  gaze 
Upon  a  world  so  dark  and  fell, 
That  thy  most  pure  and  lovely  rays 
Serve  but  man's  midnight  heart  to  tell. 

IX. 

On  the  young  vestals'  desperate  flight 

Thou  didst  look  down  with  smile  as  gay 

As  if  it  was  their  bridal  night, 

And  they  were  led  in  fair  array 

O'er  bright  saloons  and  marbled  halls  ; 

And  on  ST  CLARA'S  prison  wal's 

Thy  gleaming  radiance  shone  as  fair 

As  if  delight  were  smiling  there  ; 

And  on  the  lovely  INEZ'  eye, 

As  she  and  ZCLMA  fled  in  fear, 

Thy  rays  were  thrown  from  yon  blue  sky, 

Unconscious  that  they  lit  a  tear. 

Crossing  the  cypressed  cemetry, 


82 

They  hurried  on  with  unheard  tread 

'Till  they  had  gained  the  boundary 

Of  the  lone  empire  of  the  Dead, 

When,  ere  the  signal  could  be  given 

To  those  who  watched  beyond  the  wall, 

Inez  stretched  forth  her  hands  to  Heaven, 

Weeping  as  if  the  hour  when  all 

Her  hopes  should  die  had  come  and  spread 

Its  pall  o'er  life — and  thus  she  said  ; — 

"Now,  ere  we  part,  sweet  Zulma,  say 

"  Thou  lov'st  me  as  in  childhood's  day, 

"When  we  together  fondly  st.ayed 

rt  Through  arboured  groves  and  greenwood  shade. 

"  And  on  the  mead  plucked  roseate  flowers 

"And  chaplets  wreathed  to  crown  the  hours, 

"  When  none  beneath  the  laughing  sky 

"Were  half  so  gay  as  thou  and  I,  _ 

"  Whose  twin  delights,  like  peach  flowers  thrown 

"  On  almond  boughs,  each  loved  to  own, 

"And  every  smiling,  happy  year 

"  Flowed  brightly  as  our  own  Zevpre. , 

"  Say,  Zulma,  say  thou  lov'st  me  still, 

"  And  I  will  suffer  every  ill 

"  That  follows  broken  vows  made  known — 

"  So  Zulma's  love  is  all  my  own." 

"Now  ere  we  part — a  strange  prelude, 

41  Fair,  fearful  sister  !  to  delight — 

"  Thy  very  spirit  is  imbued 

"With  causeless  doubts  and  fears  to-night. 

"  Wake  thee  from  fright — thou  hast  my  love, 

"  And  shall  my  fate  and  fortune  prove. 

"  They  hear  our  rustling  in  the  shade — 

"  Here  is  the  cord-wove  escalade — 

"Now,  INEZ, fearless  follow  me, 

"  Doubt  not,  we  must  and  shall  be  free." 

Unfaltering  ZULMA  scaled  the  height, 

Cheering  the  lovely  nun  to  speed, 

And  then  flew  down  with  footstep  light 


83 

To  JULIAN'S  arms,  most  blest  indeed. 

The  solitary  vestal  stoi  d 

A  moment  ere  she  dared  to  climb, 

And  in  that  moment's  solitu  'e 

Hei  stolen  flight  appeared  like  crime  ; 

She  was  so  pure,  so  lovely,  sin 

Tinged  not  a  thought  her  soul  within. 

But  Dion's  low  though  passioned  call 

Impelled  her  faltering  foot  above, 

And  she  had  gained  the  ivied  wall, 

In  view  of  all  to  whom  her  love 

Clung  with  a  fondness  oniy  known 

To  feeling  hearts  that  throb  alone, 

When  the  full  gush  of  high  delight 

O'erwhelmed  her  sense  and  dimmed  her  sight, 

And  her  brain  reeled  in  dizziness  ; 

She  heeded  not  the  cries  below, 

She  could  nor  see  nor  hear  nor  know 

The  insupportable  distress 

Of  those  who  saw  her  fainting  there  ! 

Count  Dion  sprung — he  reached  the  height*— 

But  one  shrill  shriek  of  wild  despair, 

The  falling  form  that  met  his  sight, 

The  hollow  groan,  that  rose  and  fell 

Upon  his  heart  like  ruin's  knell, 

Told  him  his  loves,  joys,  hopes  had  fled, 

And  INEZ  numbered  with  the  dead. 

X. 

"Away — away  !  Prince  Julian,  fly  ! 
"The  alarum  bell  is  pealing  high, 
"And  ruthless  hordes  of  vestal  fiends 
"  Are  rushing  hither  !" — Who  ascends 
Again  that  dreadful  wall,  so  late 
Scaled  with  a  look  that  smiled  at  Fate  ? 
'Tis  Zulma — "Julian  !  leave  me  now, 
"  For  1  must  share  the  death  I  wrought, 
•«  And  consummate  my  yestal  vow 


84 

"In  pain  and  darkness  as  I  ought." 
She  rose  to  give  her  purpose  deed, 
When  Dion  barred  her  path  and  cried — 
"  Prince  Julian  !   as  thou  wouldst  in  need, 
"And  when  despair  hns  humbled  pride, 
"Crave  mercy  of  the  powers  on  high, 
"  Seize  Zulma  quick  and  fly,  fly,  fly  !" 
In.  passion  wild  and  wildered  fear 
Julian  obeyed  the  wise  behest, 
And  grasped  the  heroic  maiden  ere 
She  could  achieve  her  purpose  ;  prest 
Unto  his  throbbing  heait,  her  high 
Spirit  lost  its  wild  energy, 
And,  whelmed  by  mingled  love  and  dread. 
Left  her  as  passive  as  the  dead  ; 
And,  ere  a  moment  more  had  flown, 
The  high-souled  nun  and  piince  had  gone. 
Count  Dion  watched  them  out  of  view, 
Then  seized  the  bianch  of  towering  yew, 
And  dropped  within  the  cemetry, 
Where  round  the  lifeless  Inez  spread 
Tombs  whose  white  marble  mournfully 
Shone  as  in  mockery  of  the  Dead. 
He  raised  the  lovely  sufferer, 
And  laid  her  bleeding  on  his  breast, 
And  kissed  the  death-like  cheek  of  her 
Who  was  his  spirit's  heaven  most  blest, 
While,  as  he  gazed  in  speechless  woe 
O'er  her  soft,  lovely  features  graven 
With  death's  dark  lines,  he  saw  below 
Nor  love  nor  joy,  nor  hope  in  heaven. 
But  scarce  the  space  of  lightning's  glare 
WTas  left  to  muse  of  his  despair, 
Or  soothe  the  suffering  Inez  there  ; 
The  cloister  horde  by  Abbess  led, 
Exulting  that  their  venomed  iiate 
Could  now  be  poured  on  beauty's  hee.3 
And  virtue's  heart  left  desolate, 


85 

Rushed  like  hyaena  troops  upon 
The  gallant  Dion — bu4,  appalled 
By  his  proud  port,  though  all  alone 
He  stood — they  paused  and  shrilly  called 
Their  faithful,  favored  alguazil, 
To  guard  the  holy  cloister's  weal. 
Folding  his  bosom's  suffering  bride 
With  one  strong  arm  unto  his  heart, 
And  with  the  other  waving  wide 
A  sword  by  sage  Iberian  art 
Trebly  refined  and  edged,  he  bade 
The  serpent  throng  avoid  his  path, 
And  sprung  upon  the  escalade ; 
Then  came  the  alguazil  in  wrath, 
Dashing  the  trembling  host  away, 
Like  war-ship  rushing  through  the  spray, 
And  Dion  charged  in  lordly  tone 
To  yield  and  meek  submission  own. 
The  Lover  there  that  moment  stood, 
Not  like  proud  warrior  trained  in  blood, 
But  like  that  Spirit  who  on  high 
His  four-edged  sword  waved  o'er  the  sky, 
And  bade  the  sinning  mortal  die. 
"  Yield  thee,  blasphemer  !  Heaven  commands." 
"Chain,  then,  the  bold  blasphemer's  hands, 
"And  bind  his  phrenzied  spirit  down 
"Low  as  thy'master's  and  thine  own." 
"Darestthou  the  monarch's  alguazil  ?" 
"  Bid  ye  the  whelp-robbed  lion  kneel !" 
"Fell  ruffian  !  thou  wilt  rue  this  hour." 
"  Ruffian  ! — not  while  my  sword  hath  power." 
And  with  the  word  the  unfailing  blade 
Low  at  his  feet  the  opposer  laid, 
And  Dion  seized  the  escalade. 
He  springs  with  more  than  mortal  might, 
He  rises — almost  gains  the  height — 
His  hand  is  on  the  moss-grown  wall — 
This  moment  saves  or  ruins  all  I 


Oh,  Dion,  nerve  thy  heart  again, 
One  minute, — spring — thou  wilt  be  freo, 
And  save  thy  love — 'tis  vain — 'tis  vain, 
Despair  hath  sealed  thy  destiny  ! 
They  tear  away  the  cord-wove  frame, 
And  thou  art  doomed  to  woe  and  shame ! 
Still  Dion  bears  the  double  weight 
With  one  torn,  bleeding,  numbing  hand 
Awhile — he  falls — the  scroll  of  Fate 
•Hath  rolled  its  darkest  record  !  "  Stand, 
"Exulting  fiends,  oh,  stand  ye  there, 
"And  over  heaven  your  triumph  tell, 
""And  laugh  o'er  death  and  dark  despair, 
"For  than  ye  worse  reign  not  in  hell !" 
****** 
****** 

XI. 

'Tis  sweet  to  gaze  on  a  moonlight  sea, 
But  sweeter  upon  its  wave  to  be 
When  the  mellow  airs  of  springtime  night 
Come  over  the  heart  as  it  floats  in  light, 
And  the  sleeping  flowers  exhale  perfume, 
Like  a  virgin's  breath  from  lips  of  bloom, 
And  the  dark-blue  waters  curl  and  gleam 
In  the  diamond's  star-light's  mirrored  beam, 
While  the  spirit  burns  o'er  the  glittering  sea 
'Till  it  longs  a  moonlight  wave  to  be. 
But,  ah,  there  are  hearts  on  a  moonlight  sea 
That  love  not  afar  from  their  home  to  be, 
Whose  pain  mellow  airs  can  ne'er  assuage, 
Nor  the  starlight  wave  their  thoughts  engage  ; 
Who  sail  on  the  sea  with  nor  hope  nor  joy, 
Unloving  the  beautiful  waters  and  sky, 
In  whose  dreary  breasts  delight  never  moves, 
And  who  turn  from  the  view  of  rapturous  loves, 
With  a  sickening  burst  of  coming  pain, 
For  they  never  can  feel  their  hopes  again, 
Oh,  spirits  that  sail  on  the  moonlight  sea 


87 

Should  have  thoughts  as  vast  as  eternity, 
And  feelings  as  pure  and  happy  as  those 
Rainbow-winged  birds  who  can  dwell  in  arose, 
For  hearts  full  of  grief,  oh,  never  can  be 
Fond  of  sailing  alone  on  a  moonlight  sea. 


XII. 

O'er  Lusitania's  soft-blue  moonlight  bay 
Swells  the  gay  song  of  reckless  gondolier, 
While  his  bark  dances,  a-s  the  waters  play, 
On  the  shore  waves  that  glitter  bright  and  clear.. 

Dim  in  the  distance,  marked  upon  the  sky, 
Wave  the  blue  pennon  and  the  glimmering  sail, 
And  oft  is  heard  the  master's  anxious  cry 
While  shoreward  sea-boy  answers  to  his  hail. 

Yet,  save  his  song  and  their  expectant  cries, 
The  world  is  slumbering  in  a  soft  repose, 
And  spirits  from  their  star-thrones  in  the  skies 
Breathe  softly  as  a  dew-lipped  sleeping  rose. 

It  is  the  hour  when  Love's  communion  fills 
Eye,  lip  and  heart  with  rapture's  magic  light; 
When  waning  Dian,  throned  on  shadowy  hills, 
Smiles  o'er  young  transports  from  her  azure  height, 

Pomegranate,  orange,  lime  and  citron  groves 
Shadow  grey  turrets  and  time-honored  towers, 
And  heaven's  pale  queen  amid  their  arbours  roves 
And  counts  with  tears  the  melancholy  hours. 

But  hushed  is  song  of  happy  gondolier, 
And  fast  the  shadowy  sail  ascends  on  high  ; — 
A  step,  a  form,  a  voice — "  Prince  Julian's  here  I" 
'*  Alfonso,  haste  !  this  hour  we  'scape  er  die !" 


88 

XIII. 

Before  the  rising,  shrill-voiced  gale 
Flies  the  yard-stretching,  mighty  sailj 
Swelling  o'er  broad  Atlantic  billow, 
Like  swan  upon  her  wavy  pillow, 
Dashing  aside  from  her  high  prow 
The  wave,  whose  hissing  foam-wreath?  glow 
Like  jewels  thrown  in  floating  snow, 
And  hurrying  on  her  watery  way, 
Between  two  oceans,  heaven  and  earth's, 
Like  war  horse  through  the  battle  fray, 
Whose  mighty  heart  would  burst  his  girths 
In  its  high  swelling,  should  his  lord 
Or  check  his  speed  or  sheathe  his  sword-. 
With  a  long  sigh,  as  if  from  dream 
Of  pain  and  anguish  slowly  waking, 
From  Julian's  breast,  with  sudden  screara 
Wild  as  her  bleeding  heart  were  breaking, 
Zulma  arose  and  gazed  around 
On  ocean's  sons,  on  wave  and  sky, 
And  then  fell  back  and  deeply  groaned, 
While  gleamed  through  tears  her  eagle  eye. 
"Oh,  Julian,  'twas  a  deadly  wrong 
"  To  save  a  wretched  murderess  ; 
"  And  her  remorseful  life  prolong 
"  Whom  none  can  love  and  none  will  bless." 
"  No,  'twas  a  deed  a  saint  might  do, 
"An  angel  glory  to  achieve, 
"  To  save  from  sorrows  ever  new 
"  A  lovely  creature  doomed  to  grieve."" 
"Oh,  dear,  lost  Inez  !"  Shudderings  came 
O'er  her  like  sansar's  chilling  breath, 
As  from  her  heart  flowed  that  sweet  name 
Which  now  was  linked  with  woe  and  death. 
And,  wrapt  in  silent  suffering, 
She  saw  nor  wave  nor  sky  nor  lover, 
Nor  heard  the  light-winged  breezes  sing, 
Like  nymphs  in  sea-shells,  ocean  over;     • 


All — all  to  her  was  pain  and  gloom, 
Her  thoughts  of  what  she  left  behind, 
And  o'er  her  angel  sister's  tomb 
She  heard  the  lonely  wailing  wind, 
With  spirit  voice  of  wild  distress, 
Denouncing  Inez'  murderess ! 
Darkly  with  phantoms  of  her  brain 
Communing,  still  o'er  billowy  main 
Zulma  was  hurried  rapidly, 
And  the  low  murmuring  of  the  sea 
Seemed,  when  she  heard  the  gulfing  surge, 
Hymning  the  murdered  vestal's  dirge. 
No  voice  of  comfort  touched  her  heart,. 
No  solemn  pledge  of  love  allayed 
Her  bosom's  anguish — "  oh,  depart 
"And  leave  the  guilty  wretch  you  made!" 
Prince  Julian  left  but  watched  her  still, 
And  gave  her  grief  unstiffled  flow  ; 
"  Sorrow  at  last  must  drink  its  fill 
"And  nature  calm  the  pulse  of  woe." 

XIV. 

The  virgin  huntress  of  the  skies 
"With  Ocean's  daughters  flies  afar, 
And  Eos  and  her  nymphs  arise 
Above  the  sun-god's  throne,  each  star, 
E'en  Orion's  blazing  sword  of  light, 
And  the  twin-martyrs'  wreath  so  bright, 
And  sea-born  Beauty's  radiance  dimming. 
While  blue-zoned  Tethys  weaves  a  crown 
Of  pearls  and  corals  brightly  swimming 
Through  her  empire  fathoms  down, 
To  deck  Aurora's  rosy  brow 
As  her  white  steeds  o'er  ether  fly, 
And  proud  Hyperion,  bright  and  slow, 
Rolls  unto  heaven  his  glorious  eye. 
The  bird  of  Jove  his  mighty  wings 
Waves  o'er  the  crimson  vault  above j 
And  from  his  eye  a  radiance  flings 


Bright  as  the  brightest  glance  ef  love. 
The  white-plumed  sea  gull  scuds  the  sear 
The  shrill  curlew  sports  round  the  bark. 
And  nature  sings  of  liberty 
And  love  as  when  from  ancient  ark 
The  beasts  of  earth  and  birds  of  heaven 
To  their  bright  fields  and  skies  were  given. 

XV. 

The  rushing  ship  is  sailing  now 
O'er  the  bright  wave  of  Trafalgar, 
And  Morn  is  blushing  o'er  the  brow 
Of  Algarve's  dusky  mountains  far, 
With  the  same  smile  of  living  bloom 
As  when  to  ocean's  billowy  tomb, 
Amid  the  sea-fray's  carnage  red, 
Their  requiem  shouts  of  victory, 
Shrouded  in  glory,  England's  Dead 
Sunk  with  unclosed,  war-lightened  eye, 
Whose  last,  bright  glance  from  gory  wave 
Saw  England's  banner  proudly  streaming 
Victorious  o'er  their  ocean  grave, 
And  England's  sword  triumphal  gleaming ; 
And  o'er  his  sons,  with  every  surge, 
Bright,  billowy  ocean  sings  their  dirge. 
And  now  the  swelling  sail  is  fanned 
By  zephyrs  o'er  that  narrow  sea, 
O'er  which  on  either  margin  stand 
Those  giant  mountain  twins  which  he, 
Alcmena's  son,*  with  godlike  power 
Severed  and  poured  the  sea  between, 
And  which,  since  that  rock-sundering  hour, 
The  deadliest  foes  have  ever  been.  ^. 

Thence  onward  holds  the  bark  her  way 
Through  the  blue  wave  in  fair  array, 
"While  to  the  northern  view  arise 
The  Alpine  mountains  in  the  skies, 
O'er  whose  snow-mantled  summits  erst 

*  Herclrtes, 


91 

The  Mauritania!!  hero  led 

His  warlike  host,  by  fate  accursed. 

To  glory,  as  the  warrior  said, 

And  the  proud  spoils  of  mighty  Rome  7 

In  that  soul-stirring  hour  of  pride, 

When  his  heart  rolled  in  glory's  tideT 

Having  dread  Cannse  in  his  view 

No  more  than  he,  whom  Waterloo 

Sent  to  Helena's  living  tomb, 

Had  of  that  desolating  fray 

On  Lodi's  or  Marengo's  day. 

Before  the  view,  where  sunbeams  smile, 
Rises  that  rocky  mountain  isle,* 
Where  he  was  born,  thu  mighty  one, 
Whose  gory  course  of  fame  is  run  ; 
And  where,  perchance,  a  harmless  boy, 
His  fellows'  chief,  his  mother's  joy, 
He  wandered  oft  and  played  and  smiled 
Amid  the  mountain's  shrubbery  wild, 
An  innocent  and  happy  child  ; 
Undreaming  of  his  pomp  and  power, 
His  crimes,  disgrace  and  exile  fate. 
Ah  !  few  can  tell  in  childhood's  hour 
What  thoughts  and  deeds  their  manhood  wait 
Or  who  will  ban  or  bless  the  name 
That  blazes  on  the  scroll  of  Fame  ; 
For  many  a  one  hath  been  carest 
By  those  who  cursed  his  place  of  rest. 
In  him  a  mighty  spirit  burned, 
But  with  a  fierce  rolcano  glare  ; 
Oh,  had  that  soaring  spirit  turned 
To  heaven  and  drank  in  glory  there, 
Earth  would  have  bowed  in  rapture  free 
And  idolized  his  memory  ! 
And  o'er  his  glorious  monument 
Heaven's  highest  spirit  might  have  bent, 
And  read  his  praise  with  glad  consent  ; 
w  The  Man,  who  guides  a  nation's  way 

*  Corsica. 


92 

"  To  bloodless  glory,  o'er  his  name 

"  Throws  brighter  wreaths  of  light  than  they 

"Who  deck  Earth's  highest  shrine  of  Fame." 

But  ah  !  he  fell  and  with  him  died 

His  empire,  power  and  pomp  and  pride  ; 

And  nought  remains  of  all  he  won —       • 

Quenched  is  Napoleon's  zenith  sun. 

Still  onward  fleet  the  ship  careers, 
Like  rapid  lapse  of  hurrying  years, 
While  fades  the  bright  foam  of  its  wake, 
Like  all  the  joys  we  give  or  take, 
And  bears,  with  sail  expanding  high, 
Its  course,  beneath  a  glorteus  sky, 
Toward  soft  Campania's  fairy  land, 
Where  zephyrs  sport  with  breathings  bland 
O'er  ruins  erst  of  pride  and  fame, 
And  gorgeous  domes  of  crime  and  shame. 
And,  'mid  the  night  that  robes  the  skies, 
Julian  directs  sad  Zulma's  view 
Where  ^Etna's  fiery  columns  rise 
In  desolation's  lurid  hue, 
And  glare  between  this  world  and  heaven, 
Like  fiends  to  whom  Destruction's  given. 
The  baleful  light  is  flaring  o'er 
Trinacria's  vine-clad,  flowery  shore, 
Where  Arethusa  once  did  gush 
In  lucid  streams  for  bards  to  drink, 
And  Alpheus  'neath  the  sea  did  rush 
To  meet  his  fountain  bride — the  brink 
Was  clothed  in  amaranthine  flowers, 
And,  near,Ortygia's  sacred  grove', 
Delayed  the  rosy-footed  hours 
Of  pure  delight  and  raptured  Love. 
A  weedy  marsh  now  stagnates  there, 
And  taints  the  thick  and  sluggish  air, 
As  all  man's  hop.es  close  in  despair. 


93 

The  lovers'  course  is  almost  done, 
The  lovers'  goal  is  nearly  won, 
And  how  hath  Zulma  borne  the  flight  ? 
Like  one  whose  brightest  day  was  night. 
Like  one  whose  heart  hath  caught  a  taint 
Of  crime,  though  fancied,  dark  and  deep  ; 
Whose  dread  remorse  doth  ever  paint 
Horrors,  and  ne'er  is  lulled  to  sleep* 
Since  o'er  a  spirit  proud  and  high 
It  reigns  with  threefold  energy. 
Who  backward  looks  and  finds  despair, 
And  forward,  misery  bars  her  there  ; 
Below — there  sleeps  a  murderess — 
Above — there  dwells  no  Power  to  bless. 
The  more  she  thinks,  the  darker  grows 
The  volume  of  her  sins  and  woes ; 
No  change  conies  o'er  her  agony  ; 
Like  Etna's  fire,  it  burns  within, 
And,  darkening  o'er  the  spirit's  sky, 
Burns  ever  with  the  gathering  sin. 
It  was  not  madness  ;    o'er  her  brain 
Coherent  thoughts  ceased  not  to  flow1 ; 
But  'twas  that  dread,  oppressive  pain, 
That  mountain  weight  of  crushing  woe, 
Which  follows,  in  a  sinless  mind, 
A  deed  that  spirits  too  refined 
Brood  o'er  as  done  by  them — though  none 
Other  would  such  arraignment  own. 
Reason  was  worse  than  vain  and  speech 
The  dreadful  mania  could  not  reach  ; 
So  Julian  left  to  Time  the  dread 
Disease  which  o'er  her  pure  heart  shed 
The  baneful  death-dew  of  despair, 
And  fixed  its  upas  fountain  there  ; 
For  Zulma  sought  no  sympathy, 
No  comfort  false  as  it  is  free, 
But  leaned  upon  the  penal  rod 
Aud  bowed  her  burning  heart  to  GOD. 


94 

XVI. 

The  bark  hath  passed  the  Tyrrhine  sea 
And  anchored  in  the  glorious  bay 
Of  proud  and  base  Parthenope,* 
Where  perfumed  gales  with  sunlight  play 
O'er  antique  fane  and  tower, 
And  palace  proud,  whose  mirrored  dome, 
Like  a  bright  heaven,  o'er  many  a  tomb 
Of  many  a  mighty  one  laid  low 
Gleams  with  a  rich,  refulgent  glow, 
Like  Freedom  o'er  lost  Power. 
The  bark  is  moored — the  lovers  gone 
Beyond  the  once  fair  Lucrine  lake, 
Where  dark-browed  Ruin  reigns  alone 
O'er  Baiae  lost  in  marshy  brake, 
And  all  the  fairy  gardens,  groves, 
And  meads  and  dales  erst  loved  so  well 
By  himt — so  reckless  luxury  proves 
In  one  a  nation's  ruin  fell — 
Who,  shunning  Glory's  shrine  when  he 
Had  gained  the  fane,  left  mighty  Rome 
The  victim  of  fierce  anarchy, 
Dreading  yet  hurrying  on  her  doom. 
Lucrine — the  haunt  of  mirth  is  gone  ; 
And  there  volcanoes  glare  alone  ! 
Baize   hath  sunk  to  dust  and  she, 
Earth's  mistress  stands,  like  ancestry, 
Scowling  o'er  sons,  degraded,  lost 
In  soft,  voluptuous  ease — their  boast 
Their  shame — while  yet  her  downcast  eye 
Kindles  o'er  shades  of  power  gone  by. 

XVII. 

Days,  weeks  and  months  have  been  and  gone- 
And  raptures  soft  have  come  and  flown — 
And  lovely  Zulma  dwells  alone 
In  solitary  castle  high 
Between  fair  earth  and  fairer  sky. 

*  Neapolis  or  Naples.  f  Lucullus. 


95 

Julian  had  been  most  courteous  kind  ; 
Had  kneeled  and  sworn  his  deathless  love  ; 
And,  lore-skilled,  o'er  the  vestal's  mind 
Mournful  thrown  comfort  from  above  ; 
He  had  been  all  a  lover  is, 
And  would,  perchance — I  will  not  dwell 
On  man's  intent  to  offer  bliss 
To  one  who  had  for  him  farewell 
Bidden  all  thoughts  of  earth  and  heaven, 
And  sole  to  him  her  full  heart  given. 
Prince  Julian  was  Campania's  heir, 
And  thus  decreed  his  royal  size  ; — 
"Thou  wed'st  proud  Austria's  daughter  fair, 
"  Or  never  com'st  the  sceptre  nigher." 
Julian  was  proud  and  fond  of  fame — 
The  fair  nun  could  nor  raise  his  name 
Nor  swell  his  power — but  she  might  be 
The  unseen  queen  of  sovereignty  ; 
The  empress  of  his  private  hours — 
The  angel  of  his  palace  bowers. 
So  Julian  thought,  though  he  had  tried 
Her  virtue  oft  by  speech  oblique 
And  look  lascivious,  when  his  pride 
And  birth  and  state  appeared  most  weak 
Before  wrong'd  Zulma's  Juno  eye, 
Whose  glance  spake  pride  and  purity. 
From  day  to  day  he  talked  of  love, 
While  Zalma  would  not  see  his  aim, 
Save  when  the  princely  sophist  strove 
To  prove  all  rites  a  needless  came ; 
Then  flashed  her  eye  and  glowed  her  brows 
And  he  dared  not  his  aim  avow. 
On  love  I  will  not  moralize  ; 
It  hath  more  wiles  and  snares  than  sighs; 
Sooth  be  the  Tale  and  fair  I  tell — 
His  deeds  are  man's  true  chronicle. 


XVIII. 

'Twas  soft  Campania's  evening  houi> 
And  earth  and  heaven  were  seas  of  light, 
And  Zultna  in  her  rose-wove  bower 
Sate  gazing  on  the  horizon  bright, 
Where  white  clouds  float  and  turn  to  gold, 
Like  garments  in  campeachy  rolled, 
And  fancy  pictures  angel  pinions 
Far  waving  o'er  those  high  dominions, 
'Till,  as  she  thought  of  pleasures  gone, 
And  Inez,  tortured,  dying,  dead, 
And  her  own  misery  there  alone, 
Her  hopes  destroyed,  her  true  \oves  fled, 
Her  bleeding  heart  left  desolate, 
And  all  the  ills  and  woes  of  fate, 
She  seized  her  harp  and  mournfully 
Sung  of  those  joys  no  more  to  be. 

THE  BANKS  OF  ZEVERE. 

The  bright  Sun  is  sinking  o'er  Italy's  sea, 

And  kissing  Campania's  rich  gardens  of  roses, 

But,  oh,  his  smile  brings  no  pleasure  to  me, 

For  my  heart  on  the  thorn-couch  of  sorrow  reposes  ; 

Sweetly  gay  rise  the  notes  of  the  lover's  guitar, 

As  he  greets  his  heart's  bride  in  the  valley  cot  near, 

But,  ah,  all  my  songs  of  delight  are  afar, 

Like  a  spirit's  voice,  heard  on  the  banks  of  Zevere. 

How  oft  have  I  sat  with  sweet  Inez  upon 

Those  rose-cushioned  banks  in  our  childhood's  gay  hours: 

And  fancied  delights  ever  new  to  be  won 

In  the  great  World  of  beauty  and  music  and  flowers  ! 

How  oft,  O  thou  dear  one !    1  slumbered  with  thee 

In  our  moon-lighted  bower  in  the  spring  of  the  year, 

And  heard  the  birds  singing  on  our  apricot  tree 

When  we  'woke  to  delight  on  the  banks  of  Zeme '•' 


How  oft  in  our  eel,  \rhen  denied  all  I  loved 
Of  nature  and  art,  I  found  pleasure  in  thee  ; 
And  in  vigil  and  penance  and  weariness  proved 
That  more  than  devotion  thy  love  was  to  me  ! 
But,  alas  !  thou  art  dead  and  I  am  alone, 
Far  from  all  that  on  earth  or  in  heaven  were  dear  ; 
My  delights  are  all  o'er — for  tho«,  Inez  1  art  gone, 
And  our  bower  blossoms  not  on  the  banks  of  Zevere. 

Julian  had  stood  beside  thebower, 
And  heard,  unseen,  the  mournful  song, 
While  every  blushing,  dewy  flower 
Reproached  him  with  fair  Zulma's  wrong  ; 
But  nature's  voice,  so  soft,  so  still, 
Fails  to  o'er-rule  ambition's  pride, 
Or  with  atoning  sorrow  fill 
A  lordly  heart  unsanctined. 
Julian  approached,  and  greeted  fair 
The  sad,  forsaken,  lovely  maid, 
And,  eloquent  in  praise  and  prayer, 
Repeating  all  he  oft  had  said, 
Implored  compliance  with  his  lovey 
Acceptance  of  his  treasures — all — 
And  she  should  ever — ever  prove 
The  queen  of  banquet,  bower  and  hall, 
And  be  his  heart's  eternal  bride, 
His  life,  his  sun,  his  hope,  his  heaven, 
And,  when  he  gained  his  throne  of  pride, 
His  royal  name  should  soon  be  given. 
But,  while  the  Prince  besought  and  prayed, 
How  sat  and  looked  the  insulted  maid? 
Like  her  of  Enna's  rosy  vale* 
When  wooed  by  him  of  Acheron  ;t 
Her  brow  so  wan,  her  cheek  so  pale, 
Her  tearful  eye — all  brightly  shone 
With  pride  and  shame,  disdain  and  scorn, 
And  thus — "  Why  was  I  ever  born 
"  So  to  be  scoffed  at  ?"  quick  began 
The  nun,  while  fierce  her  hot  blood  ran, 
*  Proserpine.  f  Pluto. 

9 


98 

And  her  small  form,  dilating,  grew 

Like  towering  angel  on  the  view. 

"  Prince  Julian,  cease  !  I  charge  thee,  cease  1 

"Are  these  thy  notes  of  love  and  peace  ? 

"Art  thou  to  be  a  nation's  king  ? 

"Tuou — false,  deluding,  guileful  thing  ! 

"  The  thoughts,  that  lightened  spirits  high 

"  In  gallant  days  of  chivalry, 

"  Throw  not  a  wandering  gleam  o'er  thee, 

"  Thou  craven  knight  of  loselry  ! 

"  Vemeira  is  a  noble  name, 

"And  it  can  never  be  that  fame 

"  Should  Zulma's  memory  link  with  shame. 

"  Shall  I  thy  leman  be  ?     O  no  ! 

"  Never  while  1  can  wield  a  blow, 

"  While  poison  drops  or  waters  flow. 

"  Rede  thou  a  woman's  spirit  well 

"Ere  thy  own  slavery  thou  dost  tell, 

"  And  know  that  virtue  is  her  heaven, 

"  To  things  like  thee,  oh,  never  given  ! 


"O  Julian,  Julian  !  love  like  mine 

"  Is  quenchless,'  deathless,  for  'tis  pure  ; 

"E'en  now  it  doth  around  thee  twine 

"  Fondly  and  will  fore'er  endure 

"  The  same  as  when  thine  eye  first  shone 

"O'er  the  same  mirror  as  tny  own. 

"  Had'st  thou  been  what  I  thought  thee  erst, 

"  As  gallant  as  thou  wert  at  first, 

"  Though  doomed  to  groan  in  poverty, 

"'Mid  malice,  misery,  wrong  and  ill, 

"  The  slave  of  fear — a  lord  to  me — 

"I  would  have  loved — obeyed  thee  still, 

"And,  with  unsorrowing  brow  and  eye, 

"Forsaken  not  and  unforsaking, 

"When  sleeping,  kissed  thy  misery 

11  Away,  and  sung  to  thee  when  waking. 


99 

"  But  these  are  dreams  of  paSsion  yet 

"  Surviving  when  its  hope  hath  set ; 

"Vain  mockeries  of  my  bosom's  sun 

"Quenched  ere  his  journey  is  begun  ! 

"I  leave  thee,  Julian  !  and  be  thou 

"  Thy  punishment — no  worse  !  and  now — 

"  There  are  thy  gifts  !" — From  neck  of  snow 

Her  carkanet — and  then  her  zone 

Of  jewels  and  her  chains  and  rings 

She  loosed  and  threw,  disdainful,  down  ; 

"  There,  Julian,  take  the  gilded  things, 

"  For  which  thou  thought's!  that  I  would  sell 

"  My  virtue — and  now  fare  thee  well  1" 

XIX. 

Bewildered,  lost,  abashed,  oppressed 

By  torrent  passions  wildly  warring  ; 

Defied,  rlespised,  disgraced,  distressed, 

Each  wildfire  thought  another  marring  ; 

Prince  Julian  stood  unmoving  where, 

In  all  the  grandeur  of  despair, 

Zulma,  like  empress  throned  in  power 

More  than  deserted  nun,  had  left 

Her  lover  in  that  sundering  hour 

When  her  proud  heart  of  hope  was  'reft, 

Overwhelmed  with  thoughts  and  feelings  dread, 

Which  for  one  error  should  atone, 

Since  the  same  heart  that  error  bred 

Throbbed  with  fond  love  for  one  alone. 

Zulma  had  hurried  from  his  view — 

Her  form  of  love,  her  voice,  her  smile 

No  more  enchantment  o'er  him  threw — 

No  more  his  sorrows  could  beguile  ; 

She  had  been  his — and  now  was  not — 

He  had  been  hers  in  grief  and  woe — 

Now  she  had  gone — to  be  forgot — - 

And  he  was  left  alone  to — "  No  ! 

"  By  Heaven  '.  it  cannot,  shall  not  be  ! 

"  Crown,  sceptre,  kingdom — what  are  ye 

"To  love  and  love's  true  paradise  ? 

"  Away,  ye  baubles  !  Honor,  rise  ! 


100 

"Ambrose  !" — "My  Lord  !" — "Caparison 
"  The  fleetest  steed  in  all  my  stalls, 
"  And  bring  the  courser  here  anon — 
"  And  guard  thon  well  the  castle  walls  t 
"I  will  the  maid  re-gain  or  die, 
"  For  Honor  is  man's  majesty  !" 
He  vaulted  on  his  mettled  steed, 
And  vanished  in  the  forest  dun, 
Then  rose  the  hill  and  o'er  the  mead 
Rushed  'neath  the  last  beam  of  the  sun. 


of 


CANTO  II. 

I. 

O  Land  of  my  birth  !     Thou  fair  World  of  the  West  ! 

"With  freedom  and  glory  and  happiness  blest  ! 

Thou  nation  upspiinging  from  forest  and  grove, 

Like  wisdom's  armed  queen  from  the  brain  of  high  Jove  ! 

Though  thy  winds  are  the  coldest  the  North  ever  blows, 

And  thy  mountains  the  drearest  when  covered  with  snows; 

Though  the  warm  fount  of  feeling  is  chilled  ere  it  gushes, 

And  pleasure's  stream  frozen  while  brightly  it  rushes  ; 

Though  thy  sons  like  their  clime  are  oft  chilling  and  rude 

And  rough  as  the  oak  in  their  own  mountain  wood  ; 

Yet  I  love  thee,  my  country  !  as  fondly  as  Tell 

Loved  the  Alpine  Republic  he  rescued  so  well. 

For  thy  yeomen  can  circle  the  winter-eve  hearth, 

Undreading  oppression,  and  talk  of  the  Earth, 

Whose  bosom  yields  nurture  to  father  and  son, 

Leaving  hearts  pure  and  gay  when  the  glad  work  is  done; 

While  the  paeans  they  shout  over  glories  by-gone 

Are  echoed  by  virtues  forever  their  own. 

O  thou  home  of  the  rover  o'er  ocean's  rude  wave, 

Asylum  of  sorrow  and  fort  of  the  brave  ! 

Advance  in  thy  Glory  o'er  forest  and  sea, 

Unrivalled,  unconquered,  heroic  and  free  ! 

Though  the  rose  bloom  and  fade  in  its  holiday  hour, 

And  the  sun-god  be  palled  in  the  glory  of  power, 

And  winter's  cold  breath  blanch  the  blossoms  of  spring, 

Unlike  the  bright  climes  of  whose  riches  I  sing; 

Yet  thy  virtues  bend  not  to  each  soothing  breeze, 

Whose  syren  song  lures  through  the  soft  shaded  trees, 

Like  the  gay,  grovelling  sons  of  the  tropical  clime, 


103 

Whose  skies  are  all  glory — whose  earth  is  all  crime. 
My  own  native  Land  !  far,  oh,  far  be  the  day 
When  minstrel,  more  worthy— more  fated,  his  lay 
Shall  attune,  of  thy  shame— while  his  notes  sadly  swell 
Tale  so  tragic  as  mine  with  sorrow  to  tell  ! 

II. 

The  sunniest  rose  that  ever  blowed  ^ 

In  velvet  vale  of  soft  Cashmere  ; 

The  loveliest  light  that  ever  glowed 

O'er  heaven  in  springtime  of  the  year, 

Ne'er  blushed  and  beamed  more  purely  brigh' 

Than  gentle  Inez'  sinless  heart 

Upon  that  dreadful,  fated  night 

When  doomed  with  all  it  loved  to  part. 

No  spirit,  gazing  from  above 

With  eyes  impearled.in  pity's  tears, 

Cherished  more  heavenly  thoughts  of  love 

In  glory's  highest,  brightest  spheres, 

Than  the  pure,  lovely,  dying  one, 

Dragged  by  that  fiendlike  sisterhood, 

When  they  had  gory  triumph  won, 

With  malice  fierce  and  hate  imbued, 

To  the  dim,  dread  refectory  ; 

Where,  telling  fast  their  rosaries, 

And  lifting  many  a  saint-like  eye 

To  heaven  with  muttered  groans  and  sighss 

The  demon  conclave  met  to  doom 

To  living  grave,  to  breathing  tomb, 

The  apostate,  suffering,  dying  nun. 

The  word  hath  passed — the  deed  is  done  ! 

Ere  morn  gleams  through  the  painted  glass 

Of  prison  cell,  or  o'er  the  wall 

Of  dark  &t  Clara  light  doth  pass 

Dimly  and  sickening — all,  ay,  all 

Of  that  most  wretched  band,  save  one, 

Are  kneeling  at  the  tapered  shrinei 

Before  the  Omniscient's  holy  throne, 

With  zeal  and  fervor  called  divine, 


103 

V 

To  chant  their  impious  prayers  to  Him 

In  whose  dread,  all-pervading  eye 

Not  even  the  heavenliest  seraphim 

Are  pure  in  their  great  piety! 

Alas  !  that  Heaven's  most  blessed  boon, 

Religion,  breathing  peace  and  love, 

In  man's  polluted  heart  so  soon 

The  veriest  creed  of  hell  should  prove ! 

III. 

Bruised,  wounded,  bleeding,  lost  to  sense, 

Her  wounds  unstanched,  her  arm  unset, 

The  dying  nun  was  hurried  thence 

To  that  dark  dungeon-vault,  whence  yet 

None  hath  returned  to  tell  the  gloom, 

The  anguish  of  that  living  tomb. 

Unseen,  unfelt,  unknown,  her  fate 

O'er  the  fair  vestal's  head  had  past, 

And  she  was  left  all  desolate — 

Her  doom  was  sealed — the  die  was  cast — 

Ere,  waking  from  her  dreadful  dream, 

She  faintly  said — "I  heard  a  scream 

"  Of  death,  methought,  O  Dion  !  say 

"Is  Zulma  saved  ?"     Then, .as  she  lay 

Leaning  against  the  dungeon  wall, 

She  turned — groaned — and  fell  back  again; 

"Oh,  Dion  !  love  !  oh,  tell  me  all, 

"Is  Zulma  safe?" — Convulsive  pain 

Came  o'er  her  then  and  dimmed  the  eye 

Of  yesternight's  dread  memory, 

And  through  her  spirit's  drear  opaque 

She  could  not  look — she  could  not  take 

Perception  of  her  agony  ; 

She  knew  't  was  so — but  how  or  why 

It  baffled  her  delirious  brain 

To  tell ; — and  then  she  thought  again, 

And  more  distinct  her  memory  grew 

Of  what  had  passed — and  chill  the  dew 

Of  anguish  hung  upon  her  brow, 


104 

Like  frozen  breath  on  freezing  snow, 
As  dim  she  caught  the  past  and  gone  ; 
Yet  she  could  not — the  dying  one, 
Imagine  why  she  was  alone. 
She  spake  again,  but  faint  and  low — 
"  O  Dion,  thou  didst  often  say 
"  Thy  love  could  master  every  woe, 
"  And  change  the  spirit's  night  to  day; 
"  It  cannot  be  that  thou  should'st  now 
"  Disdain  compliance  with  thy  vow — 
"  Now,  when  I  feel — O  Dion,  come 
"And  bear  me  hence — I  must  go  home'.'; 
She  listened  then  for  some  faint  sound, 
And  strove  to  rise  and  look  around ; 
But  all  was  midnight  gloom  and  she 
Alone  there  in  her  agony. 
Still  memory  gathered  link  by  link — 
And  still  her  wounds  life's  current  bled — 
With  a  death-thirst  she  longed  to  drink 
What  flowed  around  her  dungeon  bed  ; 
She  scooped  the  fluid  in  her  hand, 
And  bore  it  to  her  lips — 't  was  blood  I 
And  then  her  spirit  lost  command 
'Mid  horror,  gloom,  and  solitude, 
While  sense,  beyond  mere  words  to  tell, 
O'er  all  the  past  began  to  swell 
And  well  she  saw  herihopeless  doom, 
There  buried  in  eternal  gloom, 
Whence  shrillest  shriek  and  wildest  cry 
Couli^l  ne'er  be  heard,  her  agouy 
To  tell,  beyond  her  prison  walls, 
Whtre  murder's  scream  all  vainly  calls. 
No  missal  thore  nor  cross  had  she, 
O'er  which  to  breathe  her  parting  breath  ; 
To  cheer  her  in  her  misery, 
And  balm  the  piercing  dart  of  death  ; 
For  they  had  banned  the  dying  nun 
And  barred  redeeming  penitence  ! 
Demons !  their  hate  her  glory  won — 


105 

Her  amulet  was  innocence  ! 

So  malice  works  its  own  reward, 

And  weakest  proves  when  most  on  guard, 

Foi  never  yet  hath  hatred  wrought 

The  deadly  ruin  which  it  sought, 

Untended  by  a  deadlier  blow 

Than  that  which  laid  its  victim  low. 

IV. 

A  sound  disturbed  her  solitude — 
High  chanting  from  the  chapelry  ; 
Like  waitings  from  a  gloomy  wood 
When  echoed  by  a  gloomy  sky, 
The  distant  swell  of  cloister  strain 
And  matin  hymn  came  o'er  her  brain, 
And  roused  to  life  her  slumbering  pain. 
It  was  her  dirge — that  morning  song, 
And  slowly  rolled  the  nqjes  along 
The  cypress  groves — the  vaults — the  cells- 
Like  murder's  midnight  groan  which  tells 
The  fearful  deed  most  fearfully  ; 
And  there  the  lovely  Inez  lay 
In  suffering's  last  extremity, 
While  not  a  solitary  ray 
Of  light  relieved  the  heart-felt  gloom 
That  palled  her  spirit  in  the  tomb. 
It  was  a  mockery  of  her  woe — 
A  deadly  taunt — a  spurn  at  heaven — 
The  mass  of  hell  yelled  out  below — 
A  demon  shout  most  madly  given — 
That  laudatory  paan,  sent 
Through  farthest  vault — through  deepest  cell, 
To  agonize  the  punishment 
Of  the  fair  one  Heaven  loved  so  well. 
But,  oh,  no  fiend  with  things  can  cope 
Whom  GOD  has  left  to  their  own  will — 
.Giv'n  o'er  beyond  all  reach  of  hope, 
At  hate's  hell-cup  to  drink  their  fill; 
The  deadliest  demon,  banned  the  most, 


106 

May  fill  archangel's  holiest  throne 
Ere  mortal  once — forever  lost, 
Can  for  his  damning  deeds  atone. 
The  light  of  heaven  may  beam  o'er  hell 
Dimly  and  touch  some  demon  there  ; 
But  man,  abandoned,  bids  farewell 
To  hope,  and  weds  his  own  despair. 

V. 

Another  sound  the  stillness  broke, 

And  Inez'  bleeding  heart  awoke  ; 

It  was  the  wailing  of  a  clove, 

The  death-song  of  a  simple  bird 

O'er  her  who  died  for  heaven  and  love, 

And  gladly  were  the  soft  notes  heard. 

Perched  on  a  cypress  o'er  her  cell, 

The  bird  hailed  not  the  glorious  sun, 

But  sadly  sung  the  last  farewell 

Of  the  pure,  sweet,  expiring  nun, 

To  eaith  and  earthly  sins  and  woes 

And  life  so  early  in  its  close. 

As  Inez  listened  to  the  strain, 

And  longed  to  waft  it  back  again, 

The  shade  of  death  was  in  her  eye, 

The  pulses  of  her  being  beat 

Faintly  and  death's  last  agony 

Came  o'er  her  gently  ;  she  could  meet 

With  pleasure  now  her  dreadful  fate, 

And  perish  in  that  fearful  state 

Calmly — which  was  so  desolate. 

She  had  no  light, -but  darkness  grew 

Familiar,  for  her  spirit's  sun 

Around  her  mellow  lustre  threw 

Just  when  her  virgin  sands  had  run, 

And  as  the  fount  of  being  dried, 

And  the  warm  current  redly  flowed 

Her  gory  couch  of  clay  beside, 

Her  soul's  last  glance  more  brightly  glowed 

With  angel  hope  of  heavenly  love 


107 

Than  ever  sandalled  saint  could  prove, 

By  all  his  reverenced  holy  power, 

In  nature's  dreadful,  dying  hour. 

Feebly  she  sunk — the  crimson  tide 

Gushed  forth  no  more — her  heart  was  still  ; 

Yet  her  lips  trembled  as  she  died — 

"  Dion — forgive — my  wrongs  !"     And  'till 

Her  features  had  collapsed  in  death 

That  name  was  breathed  with  every  breath. 

VI. 

A  taper  gleams  amid  the  gloom — 

A  white-robed  form  approaches  near — 

It  pauses  by  the  dungeon  tomb, 

And  listens  tensely  as  in  fear, 

Or  hope — and  now  it  moves  again 

And  .lifts  the  iron-bolted  grate, 

And  gazes  o'er  the  cell  of  Pain, 

Doubting  its  lovely  tenant's  fate, 

Or  longing  to  augment  her  woe  : — 

Demon  !  go  in — thy  victim's  gone  ! 

With  noLseless  footstep,  sure  and  slow, 

Unseen,  unheard,  and  all  alone, 

The  holy  Abbess  lists  awhile, 

And  then  descends — and  with  a  smile 

Deadly  and  dark  moves  round  the  corse, 

Whose  features  are  an  Angel's  still  ; 

"  Dead  ? — Aye,  'tis  well — it  had  been  worse 

"  For  thee  if  I  had  gained  my  will 

"Or  thou  had'st  lived  till  now  '." — She  turned 

The  lovely  vestal's  body  o'er, 

And  laughed  aloud ;  and  then  she  spurned 

The  corse  upon  its  gory  floor, 

And  smiled  as  if  she  gave  it  pain  ; 

And  then  she  raised  the  beauteous  nun — 

"Aye,  'tis  a  blessed  fate,  sweet  one  ! 

"  That  thou  hast  wrought  thyself — again 

"Thou  would'st  not  do  it !"     Then  she  threw 

The  pale,  cold  corse  in  wrath  away, 


108 

And  yet  more  dark  her  features  grew, 

As  death  had  robbed  her  of  her  prey  ; 

And  still  she  stood,  with  fiendlike  eye, 

Revelling  in  hatred's  demon  feast, 

And  with  low  curse  and  muttered  cry 

Banning  e'en  HIM  who  had  released 

The  vestal  from  her  deadly  power 

And  raised  the  soul  to  Eden's  bower, 

When  a  loud  crash  was  heard — and  far 

The  echo  as  of  bolt  and  bar 

Shooting,  went  forth  ! — Where  art  thou  now, 

Proud  Abbess  ?     Ah  !  theu  soon  wilt  know  ! 

The  iron  portal  to  the  cell, 

The  lifted  grate  had  fallen — how 

It  nought  avails  for  me  to  tell. 

Perchance,  the  wind  had  laid  it  low  ; 

Or  death-winged  angel  might  have  thrown 

The  dreadful  bars  in  anger  down, 

Eternal  justice  to  dispense 

To  suffering,  murdered  innocence. 

Howe'er  it  was — the  Abbess  there 

Was  doomed  to  perish  with  the  dead, 

In  silence,  darkness  and  despair, 

And  meet  the  fate  her  sentence  said. 

There  could  be  no  relief — no,  none — 

She  had  gone  forth,  unseen,  alone, 

And  from  that  subterranean  cell 

No  cry  arose  to  human  ear  ; 

It  was  an  earthly,  mortal  hell, 

Beyond  hope's  sun-illumined  sphere. 

She  shook  the  bars — but  they  were  fast — 

She  shrieked — but  echo  mocked  her  pain  ; 

She  gazed  around — buj  shadows  past 

Like  fiends  and  she  sunk  down  again. 

And  then  remorse  was  leagued  with  fear, 

And  both  like  vipers  gnawed  her  heart  ; 

And  horrid  sounds  were  in  her  ear 

That  cried — "  What  dost  thou  here  ?  depart !" 

Her  heart  became  a  globe  of  fire 


Whose  flame,  unceasing,  mounted  higher, 
And  maddening  horror,  in  its  dread, 
Sov.l-harrowing  sights  forever  bred, 

Vr  :':':"•,  her  fu-'rre  eyes,  i^  :v_    .-^.i-.ot  strain, 

Ine  rr~-r';rr  madness  of  her  '•: 

But  i<'-,H'v:-  ialed  ;  so  P.-": 

Is  crirr-"!  v;ien  phrenzie:'.  L»y        i?a?. 

Vli. 

Unshrived,  she  there  must  die  in  all 
Her  unforgiven  guilt  and  woe  ; 
On  either  side  a  dungeon  wall, 
And  wrath  above  and  death  below, 
Unsoothed,  unpitied  and  alone, 
Without  a  single  orison, 
Without  a  tear  to  mourn  her  fate, 
Or  look  of  grief  compassionate, 
Or  holy  rite  or  orris  pall 
Or  requiem  chanted  forth  by  all 
The  holy  vestal  sisterhood, 
Who  round  her  erst  admiring  stood 
As  if  Maria  had  been  given 
To  them  in  other  form  from  heaven. 
But — such  be  guilt's  dark  fate  fore'er  '. 
She  there  must  perish — there  to  dust, 
UIK  affined,  turn  in  dungeon  drear, 
Accursed  below — among  the  just 
All  entrance  barred  eternally ! 
Tortured  by  terror  maddening, 
She  heard  e'en  now  the  dread  decree 
Of  changeless  judgment  round  her  ring, 
Forestalling  suffering's  numbered  hours — 
And  madness  sprung  from  agony  ! 
Darkly  the  storm  of  misery  lowers, 
And  darker  yet  it  soon  will  be, 
For  hope  hath  perished  in  her  heart, 
And  mortal  and  immortal  pain 
Are  mingling,  with  o'erwhelming  art, 
In  writhing  breast  and  whirling  biain, 
19 


110 

And  Sin  uprears  her  giant  form 

And  mad  Remorse  like  spectre  stands, 

Gnawed  by  the  fangs  of  venomed  worm, 

Outstretching  far  his  gory  hands 

To  warn  too  late — to  tell  at  last 

The  victim  that  her  day  hath  past  ; 

And  yet  more  dreadful  thoughts  arise, 

More  fearful  shadows  blast  her  view, 

And  wilder  are  her  echoed  cries, 

And  colder  is  the  dungeon-dew. 

VIII. 

Time  flies — strength  fails — but  madness  grows 
Stronger  and  darker  in  its  mood, 
And  fevered  Fear  delirious  throws 
O'er  all  the  gloom  a  robe  of  blood  ; 
x  And  now  she  sinks  beside  the  nun, 
There  like  a  song-lulled  angel  sleeping, 
And  smiling  as  her  woes  were  done, 
And  she  in  Heaven  was  vigils  keeping, 
And  grasps  her  cold  and  bloodless  hand 
Convulsively,  and  to  her  heart 
Folds  it  as  if  the  fiends  that  stand 
Exulting  by  would  tear  apart 
The  living  and  the  dead — the  dove 
In  sacrifice  inhuman  slain, 
And  wretch  who  slew  it  !     Guilt  doth  prove 
A  wretched  comforter  in  pain, 
In  fear  and  death  ; — it  will,  perforce, 
Seek  consolation  from  a  corse. 
She  starts  as  if  an  adder  stung  ! 
A  demon  voice  of  mirth  had  rung 
Through  all  the  chambers  of  her  brain  ; 
She  listens — now  it  comes  again, 
Blended  with  laughter  %vild  and  rude, 
And  echoes  through  the  fatal  cell, 
And  cries  aloud — "Thy  soul's  imbrued 
"With  blood  of  innocence  ; — 'tis  well 
«  That  on  thy  victim's  lifeless  breast 


Ill 

u  Thou  should'st  sink  in  eternal  irest !" 

Her  bursting  heart  could  hear  no  more, 

The  last  extremity  had  come  ; 

She  grovelled  on  the  cold  clay  floor 

In  speechless  anguish  at  her  doom  ; 

Gazed  with  a  maniac  look,  that  told 

What  horrors  o'er  her  bosom  rolled, 

Upon  the  nun  who  slept  as  still 

As  infant  that  hath  drank  its  fill ;   - 

And  then  with  shriek  that  might  appal 

A  fiend,  against  the  dungeon  wall 

Dashed  headlong — groaned  and  died! — 'Tispast, 

The  more  than  mortal  suffering. 

Alas  !  I  would  it  were  the  last  ! 

But  earthly  minstrel  dare  not  sing 

Of  fates  beyond  the  farthest  ken 
Of  starry-eyed  philosophy  ; 
Among  the  abodes  of  mortal  men 
He  finds  enough  of  misery 
To  break  the  heart  and  rack  the  brain 
That  feels  or  thinks  of  human  pain. 
The  scene  is  past  and  she  is  dead  ; 
Perchance,  her  sufferings  could  atone, 
And  the  blood  tears  her  wrung  heart  shed, 
For  deeds  of  death  which  she  had  done  ; 
Perchance,  they  could  not — but  her  doom 
Is  sealed  fore'er,  and  through  the  gloom, 
That  shrouds  unknown  futurity, 
I  will  not  pierce  ; — enough  for  me, 
She  died  in  such  despair  as  few 
Devoid  of  wretchedness  could  view. 
Her  fate  hath  past — her  soul  hath  fled — 
And  peace  attend  the  unsinning  Dead  ! 

IX. 

Life  scarce  had  parted  and  her  fate 
Passed  o'er  the  haughty  Abbess  there, 
Ere  steps  approached  the  iron  grate, 
And  voices,  as  in  last  despair, 


Echoed  above  the  fatal  cell ; — > 
The  portal's  raised  and  they  descend, 
The  sisterhood — ;  now  note  ye  well, 
Fair  vestals  !  ere  ye  ween  to  wend 
In  sin's  broad  path,  sin's  vvoful  end  I 
The  highest  boon  of  heaven  may  prove 
Tire  bitterest  dreg  in  misery's  cup, 
And  spirits  born  of  heaver,  and  love 
By  guilt  be  lost  and  given  up 
To  state  abhorring  and  abhorred — 
And  not  adoring  and  adored  ! 
Long  was  the  anxious  search  and  quest 
Ere  they  coald  trace  their  Abbess  there. 
And  anguish  probed  full  many  a  breas* 
As  they  stood  gazing  in  despair 
On  murdered  and  on  murderess ; 
"  Jesu  Maria  !  give  us  grace  ! 
"  Oh,  shield  us  in  our  dread  distress, 
"For  ah,  it  is  a  fearful  place  t" 
I  pause  not  now  to  paint  the  scene — 
The  natural  ills  of  life  suffice, 
Without  o'er  sorrows  that  have  been 
Brooding  till  mortal  pleasure  dies, 
To  gloom  the  heart  and  cloud  the  way 
That  shone  so  brightly  yesterday. 
Together  from  the  dungeon  cell 
The  corses  were  in  silence  borne, 
Vhile  lingering  tolled  the  funeral  knei?- 
\nd  sullen  echoes  moaned  forlorn ; 
:\nd  shrouded  in  their  vestments  white- 
fhey  laid  them  side  by  side,  and  kept 
Their  vigils  through  the  livelong  night; 
•Vhite  breathlessly  the  dead  ones  slap11. 
\s  softly  and  as  peacefully 
\s  twin-bom  cherubs  e'er  could  be  ! 
The  wakeful  sisters  watched  alone, 
\.nd  many  a  holy  rite  was  done 
To  foil  the  fiend  and  save  the  soul 
yf  i .,,.  ,,.v,0  oi^ce  held  hi  eh  cor'"r> 


113 

O'er  penance  deep  and  vow  austere, 

For  many  a  long  and  sinful  year. 

The  lovely  innocent,  that  there 

Lay  in  her  death  the  loveliest, 

Demanded  not  a  single  prayer — 

For  heaven  was  on  her  look  imprest. 

They  watched — they  prayed — night  waned  and  morn, 

Like  holy  hope  in  Eden  born, 

Blushed  the  stained  glass  and  casements  through, 

And  gave  the  gloomy  scene  to  view. 

X. 

To  die — to  feel  the  spirit  trembling, 
Fainting,  sinking  in  the  breast, 
While  yet  the  vivid  eye  is  sembling 
Life  and  vigor  unpossessed  ; 
To  see  the  mortal  frame  decaying, 
The  temple's  pillars  breaking  down, 
And  know  the  soul  will  soon  be  straying 
Over  climes  and  realms  unknown ; 
While  warm  affection  hovers  o'er 
The  couch  of  death,  with  wailing  prayer 
Imploring  lengthened  life  once  more 
In  all  the  anguish  of  despair  ; 
And  we  behold  and  feel  and  know 
All  that  is  felt  for  us  and  yet 
Beside  perceive  the  overthrow 
Of  hopes  on  which  the  heart  is  set, 
And  picture  in  our  dying  hour 
Anguish  unknown  till  we  are  dead, 
And  conscious,  hopeless  misery's  power, 
And  tears  from  being's  fountains  shed  ; 
Oh,  this  is  awful  and  might  make 
A  mighty  spirit  groan  and  quake. 
But,  ah,  't  is  worse  to  think  that  we, 
The  proud,  high,  sentient  lords  of  earth, 
Must  moulder  into  dust  and  be 
Or  clay  or  nothing  !     At  our  birth 
It  was  decreed  that  we  should  die, 
10* 


114 

iiut  not  that  we  should  rotting  lie 
With  every  foul  and  loathsome  thing 
Blending  our  ashes  ; — fling,  oh,  fling 
My  corse  in  ocean's  booming  wave, 
Or  burn  item  the  funeral  pyre, 
But  lay  it  not  in  reeking  grave, 
To  glimmer  with  corruption's  fire  ! 
St  Clara's  funeral  bell  is  knelling 
With  the  solemn  voice  of  death, 
And  far  the  mournful  notes  are  swelling. 
While  from  postern  far  beneath 
Issue  the  white-robed  virgin  train, 
Chanting  low  the  requiem  strain, 
Over  the  dark  and  dismal  tomb 
Of  one  in  being's  roseate  bloom, 
And  one  in  sallow,  withered  age, 
Departed  from  life's  tragic  stage. 
Where  sorrow  never  wakes  to  weep, 
And  ill  and  wrong  torment  no  more, 
And  homeless  wanderers  sweetly  sleep. 
And  hate  and  pride  and  pain  are  o'er, 
They  lay  the  vestals  finally. 
Above  them  waves  a  cypress  tree, 
Entwined  with  briar  and  rosemary, 
And  round  them  sleep  the  mighty  dead.. 
Who  centuries  since  forever  fled  ; 
A  silent  nation  unannoyed 

By  all  they  suffered  or  enjoyed. 

The  ceremonial  pomp  is  past — 

The  vestals  vanish,  one  by  one — 

The  holy  Father  is  the  last, 

And  even  he  hath  slowly  gone. 

And  stillness  reigns  o'er  all  the  scene? 

That  is  so  peaceful  and  serene  ; 

A  stillness  greatly  eloquent 

When  pious  spirits  bow  and  feel 

Delicious  melancholy,  sent 

Fro-m  heaven,  o'er  all  their  being  stea'. 

With  purifying  breathings  mild; 


115 

And  they  become  like  little  child, 

Gentle  and  docile,  purely  good, 

In  their  communing  solitude, 

And  look  from  earth  to  heaven  with  eye 

Of  sage  reflecting  piety, 

Comparing  man's  allotment  here 

With  glories  of  a  brighter  sphere. 

XI. 

O  Love  !  the  holiest  name  in  heaven, 
The  purest,  sweetest  thing  below  ! 
Why  are  thy  joys  to  torture  given? 
Thy  raptures  unto  wailing  woe  ? 
Why  should  thy  fondest  votaries  prove 
Faithful  even  unto  death  in  vain  ? 
Or  why,  despite  thy  vows,  O  Love  ! 
Should  all  thy  blisses  close  in  pain? 

No  voice  was  heard — no  form  was  seen 

Within  the  church-yard's  lonely  bound, 

And  Dion,  from  his  weedy  screen, 

Rose  mournfully  and  gazed  around. 

Long  had  he  lain  unnoted  where 

He  fell  with  lovely  Inez — long 

He  wrestled  with  his  wild  despair 

When  he  beheld  his  deadly  wrong. 

He  watched  each  leaden-winged  hour 

For  some  faint  note  of  joy  or  grief, 

'Till  Destiny's  most  dreaded  power 

To  him  had  almost  been  relief. 

But  nought  allayed  his  dread  suspense 

'Till  Inez  and  her  murderess 

Were  borne  to  that  lone  mansion,  whence 

iNo  tenant  ever  found  egress. 

Then  flashed  the  whole  revealment  dire 

O'er  noble  Dion's  heart  and  brain, 

And  lit  a  wild  and  wasting  fire 

Of  wrath  which  nothing  could  restrain, 

Or  mitigate,  save  that  sad  doom 


116 

She  met,  who  laid  in  neighboring  tomb. 

Few  vaunt  ancestral  power  and  pride, 

And  wear  a  noble  blazoned  name, 

'Mid  war's  rich  spoils  and  glory's  tide 

Raised  to  the  grandest  pitch  of  fame, 

Who  bear  such  in-born  virtue,  worth, 

Honor  and  truth  as  he  whose  birth 

Was  his  least  merit  ;  few  could  vie 

With  Dion  in  nobility  ! 

With  rolling  eye,  and  brow  of  gloom, 

And  pallid  cheek  and  trembling  tread, 

Dion  approached  the  robbing  temb 

Where  Inez  slept  among  the  Dead, 

And  bowed  his  throbbing  head  upon 

The  golden-lettered  tablet  stone 

Despairingly,  while  forth  his  tears 

Unbidden  gushed. — "In  youthful  years 

"I  little  recked  of  fate  like  this  ; 

"  I  weened  the  world  was  full  of  bliss 

"  And  man  most  blessed  in  life — Alas  I 

"lam  not  now  the  thing  I  was. 

"  O  Inez  !     O  my  bosom's  bride  ! 

"  Could'st  thoa  have  told  me  ere  thou  died 

"  Thy  love  changed  not — no  happier  fate 

"  Than  now  to  die  could  me  await. 

"But,  oh,  my  love  !  the  act  that  proved 

"  Thy  death  told  truly  how  thou  loved 

"One  to  whom  thou  wert  more  than  heaven- 

"  Thy  very  life  for  me  was  given  ! 

"  Thou  art  avenged,  sweet  love  !  by  ONE 

"  With  whom  the  dread  right  dwells  alone, 

"  And  nought  remains  for  me  below 

"  To  do  for  thee,  my  love  !  and  now 

"  It  is  too  late  for  me  to  strive 

"  With  Destiny  ;  none  bid  me  live 

"  To  be  their  comfort — thou  art  gone, 

"And  I  am  lost,  undone,  alone  ! 

"  Inez  I  forgive  the  murderous  deed — 

«  It  is  to  meet  thee  that  I  bleed 


117 

"  And  die  upon  thy  virgin  tomb — 
"  O  Inez  !  love  !  I  come — I  come  !" 
He  drew  his  poniard,  looked  on  high 
For  the  last  time  with  gleaming  eye, 
Then  laid  him  down  the  grave  beside 
And  clove  his  heart !     The  purple  tide 
Gushed  like  a  torrent  and — he  died  ! 
The  last  glance  of  his  spirit  turning 
To  her  for  whom  his  heart  was  burning. 

XII. 

The  autumnal  sun's  rich  evening  beams 

Blush  o'er  Cantabria's  billowy  sea, 

And  Lusian  fields  and  groves  and  streams, 

Like  angel  smiles,  celestially  ; 

And  clustering  vines  hang  purpling  o'er 

The  shrubbery  mantled  palisade, 

And  golden  orange,  cypress  hoar, 

And  cork  tree  rough  and  yew,  whose  shade 

The  dead  alone  doth  canopy, 

And  sunken  glen  and  dim  defile, 

Alike  in  nature's  bounties  free, 

Refract  the  soul-inspiring  smile 

Of  Autumn — queen-muse  of  the  heart  ! 

And  as  soft  evening's  hues  depart, 

Like  holy  hopes  that  smile  in  death, 

And  twilight  robes  the  fading  sky 

With  beauty  felt,  not  seen — beneath 

The  spreading  palm,  the  lover's  eye 

Burns  as  he  tunes  his  soft  guitar, 

And-sees  his  own  dear  maid  afar, 

Approaching  her  rose-woven  bower 

To  solemnize  love's  sacred  hour. 

And  lordly  prince  and  shepherd  hind, 

And  lady  proud  and  simple  maid 

Enjoy  alike  the  season  kind, 

When  flowers  grow  lovelier  as  they  fade, 

And  being's  joys  and  sorrows  own, 

And  all  the  heart  hath  lost  or  won, 


118 

Alike  ; — to  all,  be  state  and  name 
Or  high  or  low,  heaven  is  the  same, 
And  nature  smiles  as  sweetly  on 
The  cottage  as  the  palace  throne. 
Eve  shadows  dim  the  varied  scene, 
And  the  calm  sunlight  wanes  away, 
While  one  lone  cloud  of  lustre  sheen 
Still  wears  the  rays  of  parting  day, 
And  hangs  upon  the  zenith  sky, 
Like  hope  the  sad  heart  lingering  by. 

XIII. 

Looming  in  shadowy  twilight  o'er 

Tajo's  broad  bay  afar  is  seen, 

Scudding  the  wave  toward  Lusian  shore, 

A  rapid  sailing  brigantine  ; 

And  now  it  grows  upon  the  eye, 

White  sail,  dark  hulk,  and  rising  prow  ; 

And  swells  upon  the  evening  sky 

Like  castle  turretted  with  snow  ; 

And  now  the  hurrying  Sea-boys  crowd 

Round  the  tall  mast  and  furl  each  shroud, 

And  full  the  rushing  wake  is  heard 

Blent  with  command's  shrill-uttered  word, 

And  many  a  heart  throbs  fondly  now 

To  meet  its  loves  and  find  its  home, 

As  the  light  vessel  crinkles  slow 

The  waters  which  no  longer  foam. 

The  brigantine  is  moored — the  crew 

Are  busy,  boisterous,  glad  and  gay, 

And  jovial  crowds  are  there  ; — but  who 

Through  the  dense  throng  makes  rapid  way 

With  look  so  proudly  desolate  ? 

:Tis  ZULMA,  who  hath  borne  her  fate 

And  yet  will  bear  'till  being's  close, 

AH  she  hath  lost  and  still  can  lose, 

With  an  unshrinking  spirit  none 

Can  tame  or  crush  ; — she  is  alone 

In  desolation — but  she  bears 


119 

Her  lofty  brow  unblanched,  and  throws 

Around  an  eye  undimmed  by  tears, 

And,  as  she  hurries  on,  she  grows 

Stronger,  as  if  her  spirit  stood 

Prepared  for  woe  of  all  degree, 

And  agony  and  solitude, 

And  horror,  pain  and  misery. 

She  pauses  in  a  hilly  grove 

And  looks  with  bitter  smile  below — 

"Ah,  such  is  man's  alluring  love, 

"  And  such  his  faith  in  lonely  woe  !" 

Then  quick  she  turned  and  onward  went, 

With  hurried  footstep,  till  the  towers 

Of  her  own  convent  rose  and  sent 

Their  omened  shadows  o'er  her  ;  hours 

Long  past  returned  and  sadness  hung 

On  Zulma's  heart  with  that  dead  weight 

Which  kills  the  victim,  when  a  young 

Maid  who  had  known  the  vestal's  flight 

Traversed  her  way  and  quickly  told 

The  tragic  tale  of  what  had  past. 

Zulma  shrieked  not,  but  fiercely  rolled 

O'er  brain  and  heart  the  worst — the  last 

Wild  storm  of  ruin  ;  hope  fell  dead, 

And  her  high  spirit  'neath  its  own 

Intensity  was  crushed  ;  she  said 

Nothing  responsive — sigh  nor  groan, 

Nor  scream  nor  cry  was  heard  ;  she  threw 

Her  bleeding  eye  to  heaven  and  bowed 

A  moment  as  in  prayer — then  grew 

As  desperation  calm  ; — a  crowd, 

As  toward  St  Clara's  towers  she  went, 

Followed  in  mute  astonishment 

That  she  should  thus  defy  despair 

And  heriown  certain  ruin  dare. 

Soon  ceased  their  marvel — Zulma  came 

Beneath  the  window  of  her  cell, 

And  upward  gazed — and  spake  the  name 

Most  dear  of  her  who  once  did  dwell 


120 

In  peace  and  love  within  that  wall  ; 
Then  she  looked  round  and  dwelt  on  all 
Objects  and  scenes  that  Inez  erst 
Loved  fondly — and  she  heaved  a  sigh 
Convulsively  ; — her  heart  had  burst ! 
Yet  still  she  gazed  with  mournful  eye 
On  dusky  wall  and  cypress  grove 
In  silence,  while  the  crowd  came  near  ; 
And  fast  her  soul  of  light  and  love 
Was  journeying  to  a  holier  sphere. 

XIV. 

"  Jesu  Maria  !  who  art  thou  ? 
"Christ  and  the  Virgin  shield  us  now  !" 
A  war-steed  dashes  through  the  throng— 
A  horseman  leaps  upon  the  ground, 
And  rushes  like  a  maniac  strong 
Toward  dying  Zulma,  while  around 
Gather  the  crowd  to  mark  the  scene — 
For  one  so  mournful  ne'er  had  been. 
Zulma  looked  up — a  faint  smile  passed, 
Like  silvery  moonbeam  on  the  wavef 
O'er  lip  and  eye  and  then  it  cast 
Behind  the  death  hue  of  the  grave. 
Low  bowed  the  horseman,  Julian,  there, 
And  fearful  was  his  agony  ; 
He  kneeled,  like  statue  of  despair, 
In  hopeless,  speechless  misery  ; 
And  long  his  quivering  lips  essayed 
To  frame  his  torturing  thoughts  in  vain, 
And  long  he  writhed  and  groaned  and  prayed 
In  all  the  energy  of  pain. 
"  Zulma" — he  said  at  last,  but  wild 
Came  then  the  memory  of  his  wrong, 
And  how  he  had  the  maid  beguiled 
Afar,  and  held  deluded  long, 
And  then  as  wanton  thing  appraised, 
And  often  as  his  eye  he  raised 


121 

To  her  calm  though  unbending  look, 
Whose  sad  reproof  he  could  not  brook, 
He  felt  abashed,  o'erwhelmed  and  lost 
To  all  he  loved  and  prized  the  most. 
But  life  was  ebbing  fast  away 
From  Zulma's  broken  heart  and  now, 
While  yet  was  left  a  conscious  ray 
Of  soul,  or  ne'er,  his  words  must  flow. 
"Zulma  !  forgive  the  wretch  who  kneels 
"Before  wronged  virtue  !     What  he  feels 
'"T  were  vain  to  say — his  last  desire 
"  Is  pardon  from  thy  lips  !" — The  fire 
Of  being,  that  had  sunk  and  waned 
In  Zulma's  bosom,  burned  again 
Brightly  a  moment  and  there  reigned 
A  majesty  'mid  all  her  pain 
Which  daunted  Julian,  as  she  strove 
To  rise  upon  a  maiden's  breast  ; — 
"  Prince  Julian  !  that  thou  had'st  my  love, 
"And  that  in  thine  I  was  most  blest, 
"  'T  is  needless  now  to  own  ;  my  doom 
"Is  sealed  forever  a,nd  the  tomb 
"Must  be  the  resting-place  of  one 
"Who  once — who  yet  loves  thee  alone  ; 
"Thou  hast  my  pardon  while  I  live — 
"  Forgive  thyself  as  I  forgive  !" 
Backward  she  fell — faint  grew  her  breath 
Life  left  her  cheek,  her  brow,  her  eye  ; 
Slow  o'er  her  heart  came  chilling  death — 
Zulma  is  in  eternity  ! 
There  is  no  tear  for  Julian — none— 
No  purpose,  pleasure,  hope  or  aim  ; 
Himself  detesting,  left  alone, 
And  hating  all  that  he  had  done, 
A  wretch — what  was  to  him  a  throne? 
Outcast  from  joy,  .bereft  of  love, 
Abandoned  by  his  peace  of  mind, 

11 


122 

Wkat  should  his  altered  being  prove 
But  a  deep  blot  on  human  kind  ? 
So  rolls  the  tempest  of  remorse 
O'er  Julian,  as  beside  the  corse 
Of  her  he  loved  beyond  the  scope 
Of  common  spirit,  feeling,  hope, 
He  bows  in  agony  unknown, 
Save  to  the  few  whose  hopes  and 
And  feelings  catch  the  lofty  tone 
Of  thought,  that  maddens  or  endears. 
Night  palls  the  skies,  but  Julian  there 
Lies  broken  hearted  in  Despair. 


r. 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below 


lOm-ll,  '50(2555)470 


THE  LIBRARY 
BNTTBRSITY  (  ' 

LO 


A 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


••  •       ••       •     ••       i|       ||       ||  ||       I    I     I     I    | 

A  A      000035829 


PS 


Pairfield  - 


1651 
F161  1 


of  Melpomene 


PS 

16 

F161  1 


